


An Ass Out of You and Me

by GrumpyBones



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Can it be slow build if it only takes place over 5 days?, Coming Out, Good old fashioned BJers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-10-13 17:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17492120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyBones/pseuds/GrumpyBones
Summary: 10 years of Zach operating on an assumption. Till Zach wakes up to Chris' latest headline pulling that assumption out from under him.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Zach wakes up to approximately 347 notifications on his cellphone. There’s an immediate, if vaguely apathetic, alarm going off inside of his head that the apocalypse may have started sometime around his third snooze button. That unease quickly transforms into something more substantial when he starts actually sifting through the carnage that is his current inbox. The _“???”_ s are a couple hours deep at this point and take awhile to spin past but he finally manages to find ground zero in a text from Joe sent around 8. It’s only a link to an article hosted on one of those trash tabloid websites, the URL stating enough to confirm that whatever mess Zach just woke up in involves Pine. Just like that the anxiety plug has been pulled, draining out of him as he starts rolling his eyes before he can even click on it. How could the rest of the universe not be used to this man’s shenanigans by now? Lord, he tries to work out Chris’ schedule with an only half functioning brain, did someone let him get near an airport without vetting his outfit again?

But it isn’t one of his infamous talk show interviews, and it isn’t another quasi-porn photo shoot being released, it may possibly be even more shocking than the brown overall debacle.

Zach slides down his screen, scrolling past an emboldened headline proclaiming, **_‘Trek’s Chris Pine gets caught with someone else’s pants down!’_ ** to a picture that feels like a physical slap in the face. His whole nervous system seems to do a reboot, convinced that this has to be some type of medically related hallucination before it’ll accept the information that his eyes are transmitting at face value.

Wherever the hell it was taken was obviously trying to lower their energy bill, the entire background a grey and black haze of vague shapes. The flash is painfully bright, the two of them stark against their surroundings, light bouncing off their skin in just the right way to emblazon the sheen of sweat they’re both covered in. Chris is in profile, eyes closed, mouth partially blocked by the tastefully chosen censor - a heart emoji. But it’s either Chris or Zach has just tuned into the world’s worst version of the separated at birth twin plot trope.

That hair he never quite gets under control when he keeps it at that length. That stupid sweater that shouldn’t look good on any human being but hangs off of him in this ludicrously effortless way. That flashy watch Zach always rolls his eyes at. No matter how much it definitely shouldn’t be - It definitely is Chris and he’s definitely sucking some guy’s dick.

He texts Joe back after staring at the damn thing, searching for an out of place pixel, for way too long, _‘This has to be photoshopped, right?’_

And Joe, as if he’s been glued to his phone screen replies back ridiculously fast, _‘I don’t think so, man. It’s hit the real sites. It’s everywhere.’_ But it can’t actually be- ‘ _Are you telling me he hasn’t called you?’_

Zach double checks. Weeds through the chaos of family and some friends and the better half of the Trek cast that all seem to think he’s the single source of advice on what people should be doing about this. Should they reach out? What the hell should they say? Should they just give him some space or would he take that the wrong way? Every one ends with the same swarm of question marks and a variation of, _How is he?_ , that are all united in the singular meaning that they all undoubtedly assume Chris has spoken to him.

He tries to dump his pride. Whatever this is, or is not, isn’t exactly his business by default. Yeah, him and Chris are close. Closer than he let’s most people get. Close enough to know that despite the George Clooney charade Chris’ biggest fear is dying alone. Close enough that he wine-sobbed his way through the Miles break up on the phone with guy. So god damn close that Zach has had better conversations through only glances and small touches with him than the majority of the verbal ones he’s had with just about anyone else. So while he concedes he isn’t _entitled_ to be the first in line for any explanation that isn’t owed anyone to begin with - he can’t help the haze of aching confusion that something like this never managed to come up before, that he isn’t being used as some form of comfort blanket right now.

Besides. Knowing Chris he’s probably holed himself up in a little Pine burrito, smothered under 10 tons of afghans and duvets, pretending this will all just wash away with the 5 O’Clock news. His first reaction is seldom action based. For all Zach knows, his team has literally confiscated all his devices and put him in a social time out while they scramble to find a hole in this. This isn’t about Zach as much as the not-so-little part of him wants to argue that it is. Or could be.

That’s too loaded of an equation to solve at the moment so he shelves it. Tells himself to _grow up_ and asks himself, very belatedly, _What would I want from Chris right now?_

 _‘I figure you’re getting so many of these that you’ve definitely turned off your cell by now,’_ he types out. _‘But, if you want to talk, rant, throw one of your cosmic tantrums… lines are open on my end.’_ It sounds corny and rehearsed despite the sincerity. It isn’t like him to take a passive role, never felt like them to avoid the elephant in the conversation. But, he decides, if there’s ever been a singular time in their history for Zach to shut the fuck up — this definitely deserves a nomination.

When his phone buzzes on the counter less than 5 minutes later he assumes it’s another concerned citizen, or maybe just Joe losing his shit all over again, and chooses not to check it until there’s at least a sip of coffee inside of him.

A coffee he nearly spills all over said phone when he sees the notification from Chris instead.

_‘So you’ve heard then. I thought I had at least until noon.’_

_‘I’m not that bad anymore, Pine,’_ he lies. _‘Am I to take that response as a lack of denial?’_

_‘Is there another way to take a denialless statement other than being lacking of denial?’_

Chris is arguing semantics, doing a dance of diversion, and Zach knows what he’s actually saying. If you’re wrong Chris will buy a plane ticket just to see your face when he tells you so. But if you’re right…

_‘Am I to assume that your lack of denial is confirmation?’_

_‘Officially we aren’t publicly confirming, or denying, anything.’_

Which the entire universe knows to interpret as, _Yes, it’s true and we’re trying to figure out if you can prove it before we admit it._ So it really is Chris. He doesn’t know why that bothers him. He’s already halfway to hating himself for how wrapped up in this he’s letting himself get. He’s being a child. He’s being selfish. And he has no goddamn idea why he even —

_‘You going to ask? Or we going to side step this for awhile?’_

_‘Ask what?’_

_‘Whatever questions you most definitely are hiding behind the veil of unwavering support.’_

And that hurts, a little.

_‘It isn’t a veil, Christopher. You have to know that however this happened, however this turns out, I’m always on your bench.’_

He remembers coming out during the Trek explosion, how hard that inevitable choice was to make. But how easier the _after_ was with Chris added to his contingent. They were barely a shadow of what they are today and never once did Pine take off the Team Zach cheerleading outfit. The way his whole face shifted to anger the one time an interviewer alluded to him being uncomfortable working so closely with Zach had played on loop in his mind for weeks. Chris has always been in his corner, no matter what it made people think about him. Zach has no idea what this revelation is doing to his insides, what the hell half these emotions he’s feeling even are, but it isn’t abhorrence. Whatever this is winds way more complex a path than that.

 _‘Shit, Zach. I know. I’m sorry. I’m a little all over the place right now._  
_Ignore at least half of what I say, okay?’_

_‘If there ever was a time to be melodramatic this is it. Plus you’re not exactly off here. I’m a little shocked you never told me. But I don’t want you to think that’s the peak of my worries right now.’_

Even if, yeah, it sort of is.

_‘Shocked I never told you?’_

_‘I mean, it’s obviously fine. I figure it’s new, right?_  
_I get not wanting to shout it from the rooftops and then realize it was a mid-life-curiosity-crisis 3 months later._  
_Which would also be fine._ ’  
He’s rambling and can’t seem to stop.  
_‘None of it changes anything. I don’t care._  
_God, obviously I don’t care._  
_I don’t know why I’m acting like some dudebro who just had his frat brother come out to him._  
_I will never be able to make fun of you heteros imploding over someone coming out ever again. I swear I’m normally better at this._  
_Not that you’re heterosexual. Or aren't. Or that you're coming out._

A couple minutes tick by and Zach swears to himself he’s going to dive out of his 5th story apartment window if he types out one more freaking thing. He’s literally pacing back and forth, coffee long gone, and the caffeine hitting his empty stomach isn’t helping anyone. His phone is back in his hands and he’s irrationally trying to figure out what to say next when the damn thing starts ringing, a number he doesn’t recognize. On nothing more than a hunch, he picks up.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Sorry, Jen actually just brought over another phone. You can’t even imagine what the other one looks like at the moment. Shambles doesn’t begin to cover it. Though it was a lot of fun watching you sink that fast. As you can imagine, things are a little nuts right now but the dream team wanted to confer without me and it sounded like you’re halfway to a heart attack.”

“Jesus, you’re an asshole.”

“By your own math you already have me dead at 76 but I’m the asshole?”

“Only you would think this is an appropriate time for badinage.”

Chris laughs. It’s shallow but it’s sincere and it feels like it’s detangling something a bit inside of Zach. As if it’s living proof that, however they get there, things can feel normal again.

“Well only _you_ would think this is an appropriate time for whipping _badinage_ out.”

He sighs. “I’m going to try this again, and you’re going to let me, okay?” Chris grunts out some type of loose agreement. “I know I’m doing that thing where I try to tell you what your answers are before I even get out the questions. I suck at that, and I’m sorry.”

“Zach, it’s fine —”

“It isn’t though. But I do mean it — whether this is the first time it’s ever gone down,” another chuckle at the _horrible_ word choice, “or it just never felt like it could be serious enough to warrant bringing it up or you’ve been secretly married to Mr. Corduroys for several blissful years — I don’t care. Well I care. I just don’t _care._ ”

And maybe, just maybe, the silent, _Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ever tell me?_ Is screaming so loudly inside of him that Chris can actually hear it all the way in LA because his answer, when it finally comes, sure seems to imply so.

“I thought you knew,” and it’s saturated in disbelief. “I kind of don’t get how you didn’t?”

“Why? When did that conversation happen?”

He’s trying not to be accusatory. He’s supposed to be in supportive mode right now. But insinuating that this is something he’d forget is borderline insulting. Zach had spent pretty much the entirety of their first 2 years of friendship internally chanting his, _Chris is straight,_ mantra. Through filming, through the formation of this platonic bond they’ve built, through relationships with other people until it finally was this concrete, unforgettable, fact etched into his psyche. To suggest that he glossed over a proclamation of otherwise is flat out irreverent.

He can practically hear Chris shifting, “It didn't. I guess?”

“Then how could I possibly know, Chris?” 

“Berlin. I thought - I just thought it was pretty clear in Berlin." 

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t quite know where to begin to find those words either. Berlin was a long time ago. And he knows that he has tried oh so very hard not to hover over parts of that trip. Not hide them away, necessarily, but not to over analyze them either. It was one alcohol fueled moment, a moment in which _nothing even happened_ , and yet he knows exactly the one Chris is talking about.

He’s formed half of a response, something along the lines of, _I didn’t know you even remembered that,_ when he hears movement on the other end. A door closing and a woman’s voice.

Chris cuts off whatever he may have said, “Listen, I got to go. I think they finally want my input about which road we’re taking publicity wise. But, uh, thanks. For not-caring-caring.” A beat and then, “And sorry? I guess?”

“No, no, I am. I think. Go! And good luck! I know it’ll be mayhem over there but keep me updated, when you can?”

“Always.”

And just like that, the line goes dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never actually written RPS before so this has, and shall be, an adventure. Unbeta'd at the moment - hoping to be able to change that. Bare with me on the added editing time.
> 
> Also - no idea what Chris' publicists' name is, so she's Jen now.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	2. Chapter 2

“What happened in Berlin?”

Zach had only scraped the very surface of what will be the tedious process of inbox excavation. It may have only been his best impression of a car spinning it’s wheels, but he still tried to pound away at it until his head itself was the only thing pounding. For every assurance he doled out another four questions rolled back in. If this is what his phone is going through he can’t fathom the calamity of Pine’s. A text from Karl asking if _he’s_ okay is what snaps the final branch — forcing him to call a temporary truce on the war against Chris-Related-Hysteria.

Zach had typed out a quick, _‘Anything you need, okay?’_ to the new saved number before dialing Joe.

There’s at least 45 other people he rather be having this conversation with but this is the textbook definition of a delicate balance and there’s more than just his preferences to weigh here. After his egoistic first reaction to the bombshell his follow up has to be flawless. The Pine Pack is already backed into a pretty tight corner as it is and Chris had seemed, well, _resigned_ , is probably the best word. Most of the people he’d call are involved in the Hollywood circus in one way or another, which means they inherently know the importance of keeping one’s mouth shut. But god forbid he plant a seed that grows a vine and be the next bullet point Chris has to counter-argue. If that is, in fact, what they choose to do. The simple fact of the matter is that Joe will only make him regret this conversation by telling him what he doesn’t want to hear, not who he’ll repeat it to, and maybe that’s a win-win.

“Nothing.”

“So he thought you’d know he’s into guys because _nothing_ happened in Berlin?”

Zach’s been sighing a lot today. “I don’t even know if he was telling me that he’s actually into them.” There’s a grumble on the other end, something that sounds suspiciously like, _a fucking dick in his mouth,_ if he had to guess. “And sure, something happened. But it was a nothing-something.”

“Do you want to talk about this? Because it doesn’t sound like you want to talk about this.”

A _lot_. “We were in the thick of the press tour and everyone was this weird combination of enervated and ecstatic which was closing in on delirium. It had been weeks since we had a real day off and we all collectively decided that if we didn’t actually go out and blow off some steam then the combustion would take out half of Europe.”

Joe waits patiently, as patiently as a Quinto can. “Zach. Pot. Shit or get off.”

“We just went out to some club like the stupid kids we were! Everyone there either had no idea who we were or just didn’t care and we all sort of got high off of it. I mean, yeah, at first it was great feeling like real life celebrities but the limelight had burned a little too bright too long right that minute. We weren’t used to it. It was euphoric, feeling invisible again.”

“And when did the nothing happen?”

“We were dancing, me and Chris. It had been a group of us at first but then…” he doesn’t really know the end of that sentence. Looking back he has no idea when it became just the two of them. Sometime way prior to them noticing, not that noticing had mattered. “Eventually Chris told me he had too much to drink and I was fine calling it a night, so I took him back. I got him into his room, I was in the middle of setting up his in-case-of-throw-up gift basket, and he kissed me.”

Joe doesn’t even take a half a second to let it sink in, just continues on as if this was always where he knew this story was winding down to. “We talking like…” he makes an exaggerated cartoon kiss noise, “peck? Or intention driven?”

“He was _drunk_.”

“Wow. So we’re talking like, Spanish soap level.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Because it wasn’t. Chris had been intoxicated and thought kissing him on some weird self-imposed dare was an award winning idea. Zach had stopped it, talked some sense back into the scene, and they had both pushed past it. It wouldn’t have been that simple if it hadn’t been _nothing._

His phone pulsed against his cheek, a text from Chris reading, _‘Anything?’_

 _‘May I live to regret it,’_ he’s typing back, barely catching Joe’s reply.

“All I’m saying is — some of the the shit I did when I was drunk? Was only just because I didn’t have the balls to do it sober.”

“Has anyone ever used the phrase, ‘All I’m saying…’ followed by an inclusive statement rather than a passive accusation?”

In the background he can hear the sounds of Joe cooking. Clanging plates, something sizzling on the stove, and Zach checks the clock only to find that dinner time has arrived. How long had he spent typing out, _He’s fine! Leave him the fuck alone!_ texts? The rest of the world is moving on as if the center of the universe didn’t just fall out.

“Fine. Just maybe the rest of us just don’t find this as Earth shattering a revelation as you seem to. Check any site you want, the general population wasn’t really convinced this was even a secret.”

“Don’t you ever again harp on me to speak plainly thy grievances. What exactly are you saying, Joe? You think Chris _acts gay_?”

“Good moneys on Bi. And no. Whatever the hell that even means these days. If it weren’t for you I’d probably have thrown him in the straight bin.”

“So this is my fault? You act like I’m pawing at him all the time.”

“You kind of do,” with a chuckle. “But that isn’t what I meant either. I’m talking about the way _he_ looks at _you_.”

Zach scoffs, just a bit. “Me? So in your scenario you think _he’s_ the man dying of thirst and _I’m_ the one being stared at like the tall glass of water?”

“No, Zach,” a pause. “He looks at you like he’s in love.” A spoon banging on the side of a pot. “Just. File away what you _think_ you think that you know and work through it again, yeah?”

“It was 6 years ago.”

“And today isn’t.”

 

* * *

 

_Berlin._

A cab had been fatedly waiting not 10ft from the club doors and they had scurried into it as if someone was chasing them. Chris was asking the driver to turn the heat down, hot air blasting in their faces, even as he slid over to sit awkwardly on the middle hump of the back seat just to leave no space between them. Zach had let himself be squished against the door without the usual squabble. He stared out the window as the foreign city passed, wondering if he’d even seen enough to miss it, in order to avoid cataloging every inch of contact their thighs had. He was already unfolding the white flag when Chris had shifted even closer, near enough Zach swore he could feel Chris’ lips brushing against his hair.

“God I needed this tonight. Don’t want it to be over,” right as they pulled up to the hotel, so quietly it skirted the edge of a whisper.

Without really thinking about it he had pressed a hand into Pine’s lower back, guiding him towards the elevator. Chris wasn’t stumbling, per say, more floating. As if he was operating on more of a whim than actual brain cells, or maybe his personal gravity was just running low. His eyes were a little too bright after such a long month, mouth too wide for the early call they had planned, cheeks a little too pink for mere 2 minutes they had spent in the not quite freezing air. But despite the fact that Pine couldn’t seem to stop giggling as he pushed back into Zach’s palm — he still seemed decently sure on his feet.

“I almost feel bad abandoning them. I wonder how much Simon will end up paying off Sharon to keep our secret outing a secret,” he had said on the way up, watching the floor icons light up above them one by one with his head tilted back against the mirrored wall.

“We weren’t the one talking about donning women’s underwear when she delivered round 2. That’s his debt to settle.”

And Chris had burst out laughing just as uproariously as when it first had happened, bent at the waist just slightly as he covered his face to muffle the noise. Zach had reached over to put a steadying grip on his shoulder even as he began to straighten out, the ding of arrival sounding as Chris reached up, Zach thought, to brush his hand off. Only he hadn’t. Instead, Pine had taken it in his, fingers threading together as Zach let himself be pulled off of the elevator.

“This way,” Chris announced, gesturing with their conjoined hands, as if Zach wasn’t currently residing in the room next to his. “I think.”

Released in the doorway, Chris had immediately headed into the far end of the room, shedding his jacket onto the desk chair, and ignoring it as it slowly slid off to the floor. He lined the back of his knees up to the end up the bed, dramatically flopping backwards onto it to the violent protest of the mattress springs. Zach had allowed himself a moment of indulgence at the sight for a second before taking a hard right into the bathroom, giving himself a breath long pause to stare at his own reflection in the mirror, scolding himself for even thinking about thinking about it. His mantra had long been penned by this point, he _knew better_. He collected the small trash bin, Chris’ bottle of aspirin, and a glass of water all while wondering how long he had before he’d find him passed out, shoes still on, like he had every other time Zach dealt with drunken Christopher.

But he wasn’t asleep when Zach finally emerged. Wasn’t even in bed. He had gotten back on his feet, staring out of his floor to ceiling window in the best dim lighting the bedside lamp could manage. Zach deposited his morning after kit by the table on Chris’ preferred side before wandering over to him, gently grabbed him by the bicep in a planned attempt to lead him back to bed.

“Come on, lush.”

Only Chris hadn’t let himself be pulled, simply turned around while holding his ground, pressed in close as he partially encircled himself in Zach’s arm. There was a smile, a hand sliding up between them to flatten against Zach’s chest before grabbing onto the fabric of his shirt.

“You okay?” Zach had asked.

Something about the entire room had felt skewed. The normal pull from _this thing_ between them that had been humming in perfect precision for days was suddenly tugging just a tad too sharply from all the wrong angles. A wire was misfiring somewhere but fuck if Zach could tell which one. He just kept trying to figure out if he’d seen this look on Chris’ face before because maybe, maybe, if he could peg that expression down then he’d be able to label the rest of it.

There had been a noncommittal, _mmm,_ noise in return as if Chris was hosting another conversation a light year or two away and this was not the one taking precedence. Zach tried to shift his neck a bit, catch Chris’ eyes, but they had been singularly occupied as they followed the path of Chris’ own hand skirting up to the outskirt of his clavicle, tracing the knoll of the bone, before dipping into that hollow just below his throat. Curling his fingers, Pine had dragged the back of his knuckles up, just to the right of Zach’s adam’s apple, only to skim away along the edge of his mandible. His fingers split, spreading at the curve of his jaw, so his index and middle could bracket around Zach’s ear.

Zach felt pinned under the weight of the hand and his own pulverizing uncertainty. _What the hell kind of match are we playing here, Pine?_

“Chris,” he had tried to warn, too softly.

And Chris had _giggled_ in return. Thumb pad mapping the line where the stubble met smooth skin on his cheek.

“You know,” he said, voice steady as steel in comparison to the way his body swayed towards Zach. “I don’t think I’ve ever kissed anyone with stubble before.”

“Yeah,” Zach huffs, trying to subtly pull Chris back in the direction of his bed, as if removing themselves from the window, and the eyes of the world, would end whatever this is. “I bet that’d be a little discomposing for you.”

It brought Chris’ attention back to the wide lens long enough that he stops staring at the patterns he’d been tracing on Zach’s face and looks him in the eye. His head tilted just slightly, eyebrow quirking just a little as if Zach’s had given him a brain teaser to solve. That goddamn resilient smile eased back, one corner pulling higher than the other, before the confusion was even gone. It grew until it cracked open, bright white teeth peeking out as his fingers curled tighter into Zachary’s skin.

And Zach, idiot fucking Zach, just stood there stupefied as Chris had said, “Well, let’s find out.”

Chris’ eyes stayed open, flickering down to his lips for just a second before skipping back up in the span of two blinks as he drifted closer. Stayed open past the point of focusing, when Chris got so close that all there is left is Chris. Open at the moment of touch down when Chris’ mouth finally slotted firmly against his. Zach lost the game of chicken, the usual with them, decided he couldn't bare Chris in all 5 senses. Taste wins over sight and on an inhale he closed his eyes.

There was pause, at least 2 full seconds, where they just stayed there like that, breathing each other in. He hadn’t had a kiss start with that level of docility since grade school and he yet he was already overwhelmed even before Chris moved, mouth opening. If denial were ever an option it definitely succumbed when a tongue too delicately traced the intersection of Zach’s lips, making them part on their own accord, like muscle memory. Zach used his last functioning brain cell to thank whichever deities were tuning in for small favors as Chris groaned out an even more pathetic version of the noise that escaped him, before his whole being goes into essential personnel only mode.

He remembers that time in 5th grade when his friend Jake, fooling around, had held him under water just a tad too long at the community pool. Zach had kicked his way free, broken through the water like a floundering fish and taken a gaping mouthful of air that tasted like summer and the burn of relief with the lingering sensation of your first breath outside on a too cold day. _That’s exactly what kissing you feels like,_ he had wanted to tell him, as Chris’ other hand reached up to frame his face, holding him there. As if any of it could ever make any sense outside of his own mind speech.

The world compacted, folding into itself until there was just the two of them. Just Chris' steady breath, his nose sliding against Zach's, and the overwhelming sentimentality of becoming one even in such a small way. He felt as if he was about to capsize, completely lost to the sensation of Chris' tongue rolling against his. So wholly inundated by a _need_ so raw, Zach swore it was a living, tangible, thing.

 _God he tastes just like that pretentious whiskey he always orders._ It tasted so much better on Chris than it ever did in a glass and for one blissful moment Zach had just let himself fall into it.

But the beat passed, the tiny kernel of rationality blooming into something he couldn’t ignore. The, _Chris is straight,_ record that he had needled in the bathroom had become a blazing alarm in the sanity-storage portion of his brain. _Chris is straight and swaying against you and tastes strongly of good whiskey._

The reality switch had finally been flicked and he could feel himself coming back to it slowly like lights turning on one by one down a dark hallway. He pushed Chris back before he even stopped kissing him, that forehead crease returning to its post on Chris’ face. His eyes scrunched up a bit as they skipped back and forth between Zach’s, his already too pink lips parting as _that tongue_ reached out to skim over them. He had audibly swallowed eliciting a chuckle from Pine and Zach only realized he was still clenching both of Chris’ biceps when he started leaning in again. Zach ducks and shoved him back, a little more forceful this time, actually removing his person from Chris’ personal space bubble. With a couple feet between them the level of bad idea was even clearer and Zach was inclined to dissolve into a puddle of shame before even catching the look in Chris’ eyes.

“Zach — ?” He took a step forward but Zach’s hand shot up in between them, screaming like a neon stop sign that even a wasted Chris couldn't misinterpret.

“Colossal mistake,” he finally got out, more to himself than anything.

“I’m sorry I — ”

“No, it’s fine. Just, no, okay?” But Chris just stared at him. “Chris. _It’s fine,_ I swear. You okay in here? Need anything else before I go?”

Chris’ face had gotten all twisted up. Confusion had definitely been the winner, a decent serving of embarrassment, and a little sprinkle of something Zach could never really latch down and classify.

“No, uh, I’m fine. Sorry, I thought — ” Zach’s hand was already up again, waving in dismal before Chris could even finish.

“I should go, then. Let you get some rest, yeah? And call me if you’re not feeling alright. I’m not suffering through tomorrows interviews alone while you fake a hangover-flu.”

Zach stopped to take one look back, hand on the handle, just in time to see Pine’s shoulders finally relax. His arms crossed too tight over his chest as he stared at the floor a couple feet in front of where Zach was about to walk out the door.

 _‘You need to say something,’_ he had scolded himself. Chris obviously struggled with the the same thought, mouth opening as a hand flipped over palm, angling towards him. Zach shook his head, turned towards the door as he pulled it open, unwilling to hear Chris’ rendition of a joke gone bad excuse.

“Night,” he called over his shoulder, door clicking back into place, trying desperately not to wonder just how long Pine would stand there.

Zach knew the light of morning wouldn’t magically resolve anything and it did not disappoint. The first couple days _The Incident_ had clogged his mental freeways, leaving room for not much else. Their interactions became just slightly off, their interviews losing a lot of that spark that had made them almost bearable, and even though nobody mentioned it you could see on their faces that each member of the ensemble was trying to pinpoint out which one of them had fucked up and exactly how bad.

Zach’s mental spiraling wasn’t helping. He had pulled the whole thing apart too many times trying to figure out where exactly the car had driven off the bridge until there was nothing but fragments of the night left. He hadn’t seen the wreck coming until the headlights in front of him were too blinding. He shouldn’t have blamed himself as badly as he had and yet… his head was on far straighter than Pine’s. They'd been flirting for weeks, Zach had only encouraged the behavior, and Chris — the brat that he is, sober or otherwise, was never going to be the one to draw a line in the sand. That had always been Zachary’s job.

Worse still, Chris hadn’t been mad the next day. At most he’d been sheepish. Zach had assumed they were finally installing the Give-Each-Other-Space subroutine which was long overdue. He didn’t have to be happy about it in order to approve of it. That is, until Chris had knocked on his room’s door, a brand new man from the one that had been dodging Zach’s eyes for the previous 72 hours, acting like nothing had happened. No demand of explanations, no dissertation about the effects of nearly feeling up your friend, not even some bare minimum self deprecating humor about the douchebaggery of straight guys leading their gay best friends on.

“So, I got a little too into it on Friday,” he had started when Zach let him in. “I think I missed about 50 stops lights that night so I get it if you hate me a bit for colossally fucking up an otherwise good day for you. But I was hoping that by taking you out for some decent, non-studio-provided, dinner I may be able to bribe back some of that favor I’m currently bereft of?”

And like a ton of bricks it finally hit Zach — he didn’t even remember. Chris had been acting like some kid who took one to the particulars in dodge ball because all he knew was he, grown adult and new Hollywood Heartthrob, had gotten pissed out his mind _in public_ during arguably the most sensitive time in his career. He had probably spent the better half of the non-fight playing the, _Oh god, did I throw up on anyone?_ , game that everyone hopes to leave behind in their 20’s. Did he even remember getting back to the hotel?

He could tell him, spell it all out for him for the sake of honesty and humiliation alone or he could bury it Berlin and keep safe one of the best relationships he’s ever had.

“At least we know your attention whore crown has been re-secured.”

Chris looked so affronted for a second that Zach had almost started apologizing.

“That really hurts Zach, the fact that you even _think_ I could be usurped…”

Chris’ grin was always contagious and as Zach allowed himself to catch it, he also made the active choice to force the last brick back into place. Rolled his eyes at Chris like it was just any other god forsaken night on this endless press tour, made fun of his outfit over the ridiculously priced appetizers, scoffed at every impressive word usage, and let himself be stood too close to on the walk back. When Chris had asked if they were okay standing outside their rooms, putting way too much effort into retaining eye contact, Zach had no choice but to smile back, _Always_.

Because if it wasn’t okay then it could all start to crumble and something so big and important Chris — that couldn’t be traded down the river over a few too many whiskeys.

So Zach carried on. Thought of it less and less until one day a little fence had built up around it, bigger and bigger until the gate was so heavy that having the key didn’t seem to matter much anymore.

Only now he wonders which parts of that night he had written before it even began. All of his actions, all of refusal to even second guess himself, had been built on the foundation of one, sole, assumption.

He types out, _‘I’ve been rehashing that night, I think I may have done us both several wild disservices,’_ before immediately deleting it. He types out a slightly less histrionic version and deletes that too. He’s turning his phone over in his hands like a rock he’s contemplating skipping across a pond. When his phone buzzes, screen lighting up with a notification from Chris, his heart starts palpitating like mad, flaring over which version he may have accidentally sent.

He’s almost disappointed to see that he hasn’t.

_‘Well… ‘What cannot be avoided, t'were childish weakness to lament or fear.’  
Hello, my name is Christopher Pine and I will be officially bisexual by tomorrow’s morning traffic report.’_

He calls him twice, concedes to a voicemail on the third.

“It’s Zach. I mean, you probably know that, but in case you don’t have me saved yet? I’m happy for you - I think? God this sucks but it could be good, yeah?” Dear god Zachary, can you please think of anything to say that isn’t a question? “Welcome to the pride parade, Chris.”

It’s hours, a bagel, and a short walk for the dogs later when he gets a reply, _‘Reporting for duty, Sir,’_ and then, _‘I’ll call when I can.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for suffering through a flashback scene which was longer than the entirety of the first chapter. I'd like to make excuses but there are frankly none to make.
> 
> Also thanks to those who commented, you're sweethearts!
> 
> Still unbeta'd so feel free to send me corrections. Though I'll warn you - if you try to tell me to use less commas I will entirely agree with you and then fix it by adding 3 more commas. 
> 
> At least 2 more of these to go, hang in there. <3


	3. Chapter 3

Exasperation is the first emotion of the day.

The sun isn’t even threatening to be up yet and his phone is ringing, so exasperation may not even really cover it. The sleep blurred sight of his clock confirms his speculation that it’s truly too damn early to be wishing his current level of bodily harm on someone. Ordinarily he’d probably be panicking, after the past 24 hours he _definitely_ should be, but yesterday’s squall had pretty much drained the reserves of whichever of chemicals you need for that. He’s tired, and grumpy, and mostly certain things can’t get any weirder than the status they’ve already achieved.

He swipes the offending device off the side table, _Pine 2.0_ , glaring obnoxiously white in the way too dark room.

“You okay?” he answers it. Or rather, _ya’kay?_ But the intention is there nonetheless.

“Wow, you picked up, I totally didn’t bargain for that. What time is it there? 4:30?” Zach whines an affirmative groan. “Don’t tell me you’ve been night-lamenting on your balcony again.”

“‘For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream.’”

“Stargazing in Manhattan? That doesn’t seem very productive.” The sound of him closing the curtains fills in the background, Chris’ post-brushing incase-I-forget-to-put-pants-on-tomorrow nightly routine.

“Hence why I’m awake?”

Zach sits up with a moan, turns on the lamp as he tries to wipe the sleep out of his eyes.

“You’re awake because some west coast asshole called you.”

“He may be allowed to atone if the justification holds merit.”

He can hear Chris scrubbing his hand over his face and selfish Zach is momentarily grateful that he’s not the only one feeling a tad too cramped in his own skin.

“God you haven’t been awake for 2 damn minutes and you already sound like this,” there’s a chuckle to it, buried in a grave of exhaustion.

“I did say anything. This qualifies.”

It’s a long enough intermission that he begins mentally scripting wave two of his pep talk, not exactly stunned that this is going to take some effort on his part. Chris has always amazed him with his willingness to be vulnerable and weak in the eyes of others but this is different. There’s a whole universe between allowing yourself to be unguarded and being confident amid the very aura of powerlessness. Brazen Christopher Pine was never built to cope with that.

 _I wouldn’t even know how to care about you less,_ is the current inappropriate forerunner when Chris finally breaks the silence.

“Tell me this is going to be okay.”

And that tears him apart, just a little.

“You want something more specific than that? Or have we reached wide net desperation?”

Chris sighs deeply and Zach feels it to his core. “Ellen is squeezing me in tomorrow.”

“Tangent.”

“I’m getting there. But it starts with me going on Ellen tomorrow.”

“Okay. It’s the logical choice.”

“I know,” and that _resign_ from yesterday is back.

“Chris, if you don’t want to do this — tell them that you don’t want to do this.”

He doesn’t know why but there’s a kickback in his brain, a physiological eye twitch, at the very thought. A more than diminutive piece of him that most definitely doesn’t want this shoved back down the garbage chute. He has no idea how to form that thought into a supportive format, doesn’t know if it can be. Only, this truly isn’t just about him. Chris is this brilliant and beautiful thing, so bright that the closer you get to him, the harder he can be to look at sometimes — and the more Zach has always wanted to. Someone as extraordinary as Christopher Pine shouldn’t feel like he has to squirrel away chunks of himself, he should feel free to be his whole, glorious, self. But even the Tetris pro inside of Zach is having some problems trying to squeeze all of that into a normal sentence.

“The thing is, I don’t actually care about people knowing, you know? In a bizarre way it’s a bit of relief. It wasn’t a secret in intent, which I know must sound like complete malarkey but it’s true. I feel like in order for something to be considered a secret you have to actively work at it staying one. But it wasn’t, and I didn’t. There was just never a reason to announce it, and it felt weirder to announce it for no reason, and suddenly it’s this grandiose thing.”

“I get it—”

“It just sounds like I’m arguing semantics here. Every time I try to explain myself it just comes out as if I’m trying to prove that I wasn’t doing some reprehensible thing and I don’t want to do that either.”

“I agree—”

“People are going to think things. They’re going to assume I’ve been hiding this string of gay lovers or that I’m doing this for publicity with the new movie coming out or that I’m having a mid-life crisis— “

“As super fantastic as trying to keep up with your spiraling while I’m still half asleep is… I’m going to demand just half a second of a pause in the tirade to remind you to breathe,” and leave it to Pine to make a breath scream of acquiescence. “No one is going to think that shit, Chris.”

_“You did!”_ His voice reaching a pitch Zach's never heard come out of him before. 

He deserves the indigence.

“I’m an idiot!” A lot of other things too. “Okay. Yes. Some people, idiots like me, are definitely going to think that stuff. But time will mitigate the mayhem. In the beginning it’ll feel like it’ll never abate and then one day you’ll wake up and it’ll just be this fact that everyone knows about you. No different than your horrifying wardrobe or your disgustingly blue eyes or the fact that you occasionally partake in a dick.”

“I feel like I missed the boat."

And there it is. The actual problem in under 20 minutes. New record.

“What boat? I’m not on a boat. There’s no boat.”

“I’m coming out at 38, Zach. We are way past the late bloomer category here. You can’t pretend that isn’t just a tad uncustomary.”

“Your face is uncustomary.”

“That’s not even technically an insult,” Pine complains.

“Your face is an insult!”

“Slightly better,” he grumbles back.

Zach ignores him, “This is merely… _idiosyncratic_.”

“6 syllables at 4 fucking AM. You are the _worst_.”

“But I’m the _best_ at being the _worst_.”

“I’m conceding. Adamantly.”

“Christopher. Listen to me. Everyone who’s contacted me is more than okay with this, they all just love your stupid puppy dog face to bits. And your family, I assume that front is kosher?”

“They already knew. I mean, my mother wasn’t exactly pleased at the medium all of this transpired in,” and yeah, Zach cringes for him just a bit, “but they don’t care whether I’m in or out. They never did.”

“Okay then, we agree, you’re worrying over nothing.”

“What about you?” Chris asks, his own voice seeming to be surprised by the question.

“What about me?”

A pause, shuffling, the possible sounds of him sliding into bed. Chris clears his throat followed by yet another sigh.

“Just tell me again that everything's going to be okay?” Despite the fact that Zach hadn’t granted him as much after the initial request.

They both know he can’t promise such a thing. People can be truly awful and their business is unkind on the absolute best of days. Lying won’t help anyone here and candor has always been a preset for them. He wishes wanting it enough could make it be true.

“ _We_ are going to be okay. Always.”

There’s a long nothing in which he may hear Chris settle in a little bit, definitely in bed by the sound of him laying into that pillow.

“I’m going to let you get back to sleep. I should too actually,” his tone slightly lighter than where they began and that’s going to have to be enough of a win for now.

“Alright, if you’re sure?” Grunt of approval from Chris. “Okay. But if you need anything, you know.”

“I know. And Zach?”

“Yes, dear?” Cranking the chipper mode up to 11.

“Thank you, for once again being my rudder of sanity as I navigate the _imperfectability_ of this world.”

“That’s one hell of a reach and you know it—”

But Chris’ end of the line is full of his every-day laugh as he hangs up on him.

 

* * *

 

He only sort of sleeps after that.

When he finally gets up around 10, he learns from yesterday’s mistakes and prioritizes coffee. He takes out the dogs, starts the laundry, and eats. That is, actually tries to be a human before entering into the fold again. He’s beyond relieved when today’s battle of the inbox covers a lot more ground. More and more people begin accepting his answers at face value, while less and less return with a follow up until the magnificent moment he cautiously declares himself done.

Lunch comes and goes before he decides to go for a walk, the walls of the apartment feeling a little closer than usual. It’s mild out compared to how it’s felt lately, especially in the few sun patches they get between the buildings, and as they take the turn designating they’re on course to the park he knows that he’s made the right choice just watching the way Rocco and Skunk start prancing.

 _‘You done with Ellen?’_ He manages to type out despite having two leashes and a cup of coffee on board.

 _‘Yes,’_ is the brief reply.

_‘When are they running it?’_

_‘They’ve made a deal to squeeze it into tomorrow’s show. At least the beginning of the end is over?’_

Zach has no idea whether that’s meant as good or bad thing, doesn’t want to take his chances by picking one and backing up an emotion Chris doesn’t feel.

_‘Well I, for one, can’t wait to see it.’_

If the other responses felt quick than Pine’s, _‘Do not watch it, Zach,’_ is downright instantaneous.

_‘I never agreed to that!’_

_‘Zachary. Do not.’_

He’s trying to figure out how to assure Chris that he won’t while not actually saying anything that can be held against when he, of course, actually watches it. There’s a fine line between an intentional misdirect and an outright lie and Zach has no problem walking that tightrope. He’s honing in on a phrase that centers heavily around Chris having nothing to worry about, because he doesn’t, when his call screens interrupts his scripting.

“Fuck, you’re a worrywart.”

There’s a thick halt and then a confused, “...Excuse me?”

He immediately knows that voice and yet he still pulls the phone away from him, checking the name he so blatantly ignored.

“Miles! Sorry! They tell me caller ID was invented for this very reason.”

“To screen my calls?” He’s amused, at least.

“To not start a conversation with a dear friend by swearing at another.”

The, _“Oh,”_ that comes next holds far more than two letters worth of information. “You’re back in the city, right? Rhode Island has returned you?”

“...Yes?”

“Well. It’s last minute. But I’ve been in town for a bit and maybe, if you can find time around yelling at _whoever_ ,” and yes, Zach deserves that knowing reprimand, “I was hoping to stop by and finally grab that jacket?”

 _That jacket_ is, Zach thinks at least, the very last thing of Miles left at their once shared apartment. 9 months ago when the packing began there had been piles of him everywhere, disappearing one by one, until all that was left was the odd ball trinket left forgotten in the corners. Miles had stopped by and grabbed what Zach managed to find twice, he had mailed the better hiding ones almost a month later, and they both had considered the deed done. That is, until one day Zach had found a Hugo Boss jacket he could never have pulled off in the very back of a closet. The picture he had sent followed by a, _you?_ , had promptly been answered with a, _Me_. Miles had been in and out of town a few times, they’d even seen each other, and yet _that jacket_ hadn’t come up again. Until now.

Miles mistakes the lag in conversation, “Unless you’ve gotten rid of it? It’s been so long, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No! No, it’s still keeping me company. When do you leave?”

And Miles doesn’t even pretend to feel bad when he says, “Well. Tomorrow.”

“Coffee in an hour at Zane's?”

The dogs aren’t thrilled at their excursion being of the shorter variety but they can only afford so much grass time without being late, especially with the added task of procuring the supposed motivation for this meeting. The sight of Miles, however, seems to be enough to make up for his park misdeed. Death by tail wagging skyrockets to the top of his urgent worries list.

“I know it isn’t exactly the ideal sidewalk seating weather but I figured you’d want to see them.”

He’s already become an afterthought, the two animals fighting for sole attention and Miles, squatting, perfectly content to attempt to keep up with the demand.

“You thought right.”

Zach takes one the chairs and watches, it still feeling a bit weird seeing them all together. Not bad, it may even be bordering on nice, but definitely weird too. When a waitress makes her way out Miles finally returns to the land of humanity.

“How are you?” Zach asks, genuinely wondering.

“Absolutely fantastic in every possible way,” he says, smiling ridiculously. “How are you?”

There’s a tone there, a tone he knows, a tone he is absolutely willing to play dumb to.

“Well NOS4A2 has finally wrapped, which means the media pandemonium is set to start and you know how much I adore that. But at least that means this,” he gestures to his nearly buzzed level hair, “gets a chance to recover.”

“So your _professional_ life is going great,” and he hasn’t lost that cutting side eye at all.

“Are we already at the harassing me about my love life stage of relationship transitioning? I didn’t receive the memo.”

“Harass is such a strong word,” but he doesn’t disagree. “I just wanted you to know that I was happy for you guys, that’s all, I swear.”

Zach’s a tad moved by the level of sincerity in his statement, whatever he’s trying desperately to assure Zach that he means — he does, in fact, mean it.

“‘You guys’?”

“Yeah. Talk about taking the scenic road.”

“Chris,” and Miles’ face is losing its patience just a bit, nodding at him the way you scroll through yesterday’s news. “Oh we aren’t — that isn’t what this is.”

He looks hurt. “‘What this is’? As in… you didn’t come here to talk about this? You honestly think I’d say something?”

“No, Jesus, no. There’s just nothing to tell you. The Chris situation — it’s a purely Chris one.”

“Wait,” the coffee is all but slammed down, him leaning over the table in textbook disbelief, “He’s not doing this for you?”

“You have seen the picture right? I’m not the one keeping him company in that photo.”

“Have you seen the statement he released?” He had not. “It read like a love letter. You need to see it.”

“I will,” the look he gets in return is almost an accusation. “I said I will!”

“They said the picture was from a couple months ago, his publicist did.”

“It is. You can tell by his hair…” and this look _is_ an accusation. “I didn’t actually know he was bi until this whole thing erupted.”

“You didn’t?” And Miles, thank god, accepts it when he shakes his head. “Wow this conversation has gone differently than I planned. I was all primed for the, ‘Let’s chat about our new beaus,’ talk. I feel like an ass.”

“It’s a bit more one sided than your original plan but there’s no reason we still can’t.”

“Darren,” Miles offers after a brief consideration. “I think he’s the only professional photographer in the world without a god complex left,” a hesitant smile creeps back onto his face as he looks at Zach. “He sent me flowers after our first date. Can you believe that?” And Zach can, if only because Miles deserves nothing less. “Anyways,” waving it off, “it’s ridiculously new and I don’t want to jinx it.”

“You seem legitimately happy. Let yourself wax poetic for once.”

“Coming from you, Mr. Hypocrite?”

“I’ll have you know I wax poetic _nightly_.”

Miles laughs the way he always does, loudly without apology, and Zach wonders why he was ever so worried about them getting here. They talk about Paris, about friends, about gigs, until the cold wins the war. He hands Miles the bag containing the jacket this whole thing was supposed to be about only to have him peek inside and scoff.

“What a twink I was. Can you even imagine me wearing this now?”

Zach isn’t sure how, _Yes, I can,_ will be taken so he keeps his mouth shut as he pulls Miles into an overdue hug.

“You love him,” Miles says softly into his shoulder. “If you want to waste that, you can. But you shouldn’t.”

He pulls away, ruffles the dogs faces one last time, and when he waves goodbye he smiles the grin of those who know too well that they’re right. Zach pulls the mutts in the opposite direction, promising they’ll see him again soon, hoping he means it.

 

* * *

 

He expects a tweet from Jen, words definitely written by herself, signed off by a probably forged Chris signature. The video is a surprise, a good one. It’s near impossible not to absolve Chris when he’s giving you the doe eyes. Zach has spent an embarrassing amount of time fortified under a blanket, determined to stay annoyed, just to avoid them.

Zach is thoroughly approving of this plan before even clicking play.

 

> _‘As many as you can imagine, this was never the way I pictured this happening. However, due to recent events, I thought it best to make a decisive statement, putting the gossip at ease: I am bisexual._
> 
> _It was never my intention to hide this piece of me from the world, nor am I ashamed of it. I am proud of who I am and of those that share this label. We are not something to apologize for and I will not be doing so._
> 
> _I’d like to thank everyone, family, friends, for their continued support. Without some of you, I have no idea where — or who — I’d be today. His reassurance, and strength, are so much of who I am, who I know I can be and I don't believe I could ever articulate how vast my gratitude is simply for having you all on my side. You know who are, I hope, and how willingly beholden I am to you. Always._
> 
> _And to my fans? Your love has been felt from all across the world, making this that much easier. I look forward to the next chapter in our journey._
> 
> _As one of those dear friends would say, may we all live long and prosper.’_

 

He means to tell Chris he saw it, that he's always admired the way Chris seemed able to wind such strong words so softly. That Chris’ own fortitude had been a guiding light for Zach for years. That hard as he try to build around Chris a steadfast structure to live an assured life within, he could never really compare himself to the absolute foundation Chris has become in his life. To the point that he can barely imagine coffee or paperbacks or midnight existing without him. But all that just boiled down to one, compressed, statement he should have said a lot more often.

_‘Beholden, my ass. You are loved, Chris.’_

_‘Ditto. Don’t fucking watch Ellen.’_

It isn’t until he watches it again, laying in bed, that he catches the _his_ and suddenly Joe’s 4 missed calls, and 3 texts containing only heart emojis, make sense.

_'Not every slip is a Freudian one.'_

All he gets back is an eggplant.

 

* * *

 

He obviously watches it.

Luckily, for his own sanity, the better part of the day was taken up with actual work. Calls from his agent, the studio’s media team, potential projects to vet through for Before The Door, and some actual adulting that take his mind away from the same thing Chris’ escalating threats keep dragging him back to. Zach barely replies, unwilling to lie and even less willing to appease. Eventually Pine does seem to accept his fate, the texts falling silent about an hour before show time.

Chris looks good in the dark blue casual suit, clearly not having been an active participant in choosing his outfit. Even Zach is impressed by the way it hugs him in all the right places without managing to be obscene, vowing to fund the bonus for whoever managed to find a tie the exact shade to bring out Chris’ eyes. His hair is longer than he thinks he’s ever seen it get and Chris is, of course, pulling it off no matter how much Zach wishes that he weren’t. If you didn't know him, if you didn't care to see it, you may just buy the act he was selling but to Zach? Underneath all that makeup everything about Chris just screams of being unbelievably tired.

The whole thing gets off on the right foot the moment Chris settles into his natural, and ridiculous, ankle over knee sitting stance, allowing Ellen to catch sight of his socks. The camera zooms in to allow everyone the sight, bright green with nothing less than hot dogs printed on them. It may be a tad classless but it’s one hell of a way of breaking into the subject and Ellen takes it with a joke about Chris not exactly being a member of team subtle lately. Chris laughs it off, nods his head, and quips back that he doesn’t like to make anything too easy for his people, he pays them good money after all.

It’s as light as it can be. Ellen is of course on team supportive and the more Chris looks like he’s internally cringing, the more she talks about how more and more people are coming out later in life.

“Seriously,” she says. “When you show up to the party doesn’t dictate how valid your invite was. And if someone tries to argue otherwise — you can give them my number.”

She believes it and Zach can tell that Chris is trying to too, that’s a start.

The topic of who he’s dating is pointedly ignored and Zach is left to wonder whether the Pine team has asked her not to or if the general interview world has finally accepted that Chris will never, ever, answer that question straight.

Zach’s breathing has returned to normal range now, cursing Chris to high heaven for being a drama queen about this.

_‘Why did you forbid me to watch this?’_

_‘Patience is a virtue.’_

It’s going literally as well as one could ever hope when they go to the audience for some questions.

The first couple are a mix between middle aged house wives with hearts in their eyes assuring him that he’s still the love of their life, a couple LGBTAQ members who tell him how much they appreciate his bravery, and even a few who have the audacity to actually ask him about his upcoming movie. And then there’s her.

“Well, I’m a huge Star Trek fan,” Chris face brightens at that, holding up the Ta’al. “So, my question is, now that we all know you’re Bi,” and his smile is already fading as if he knows exactly where this plane is crashing, “did you and Zach ever date?”

Chris gets in touch with his expression, slapping the grin back on so big those laugh lines are out, his eyes not quite hitting the mark despite the obvious effort. Ellen is a lot less subtle, practically staring down the girl, and Zach can tell all the way on the east coast that this was not pre-agreed upon question. Chris bounces his foot, a nervous tick he never quite stamped down outside of character, while doing that thing with his face where he’s clenching his jaw while trying to smile, as he waits for the whoops of the live audience slowly die down.

“I’m flattered that you’d think that was even a possibility,” he gets out when they finally start to calm down, a new flutter of disagreement making the rounds. “No, no,” he talks over them. “None of that. Have you seen that guy?” He pauses to let the whooping begin all over again, smirking. “I never had a chance.”

And if the camera hadn’t lingered on him long enough to watch his eyes slide to the floor as he appears to swallow down a knot in this throat, then maybe, _maybe_ , Zach could have let it go.

_‘I can’t believe they didn’t cut that.’_

_‘I can’t believe you watched it.’_

_‘Yes you can.’_

At some point they’re actually going to have to pull up the carpets and see what they’re actually dealing with. Their relationship has always had a base of directness, tiptoeing has never really been their thing, and he doesn’t want this to be the reason it starts to trend. The, _not the right time_ , voice in his head could be screaming for months. Sometimes the best thing you can do for the garden as a whole is to pick a few of the fruits before they really ripen. He’s going to, he decides. Just as soon as it’s fair to demand any emotional labor from Chris.

_‘Overall it went okay though. Jen pleased?’_

_‘Yeah actually._  
_I’ll be disappearing for pretty much the rest of the day._  
_Just so you don’t think I threw myself off of a bridge.’_

_‘Everything good?’_

_‘Yeah. Just… stay with me on this, okay?’_

He’s not sure exactly what that entails but he does know the answer.

_‘Always.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd we're over 10k on a story that was initially meant to be 5. But that's okay! Because we're more than halfway there.
> 
> Thanks for all the love and kudos <3  
> See in you in Chapter Four.


	4. Chapter 4

_‘Did I use up that ‘anything’ on the 4am phone call?’_

_‘Completely.’_

He doesn’t even have time to turn the screen off before it starts ringing in his hands.

“What do you want now, Pine?”

“Well, for starters, you can tell your doorman to let me in.”

There are two relevant facts at play here 1. It's well past noon and 2. Zach isn’t even fully dressed yet. He had made the, until now, unregretted decision to spend most of the short time he’s been awake pretending that he wasn’t. He hasn’t showered, hasn’t walked the dogs, hasn’t even put on a shirt yet. He attempts to remind himself that a friend you’ve known for 12 years isn’t exactly the person the average Joe gussies up for, that Chris has seen him in far more unreasonable states than this one and hadn’t cared more than to throw a passing quip. It’s the truth and it also doesn’t stop him from frantically jumping off the couch as if he just suddenly noticed that it was on fire.

“You’re here?” He aims for casual excitement and lands somewhere around the intersection of overzealous confusion and blind panic. He has a vivid image in his mind of the headline, _Zachary Quinto, age 41, dies of a well deserved heart attack after a whole bunch of bullshit._

“Uh, no. Just got off the bird at JFK,” and Chris is most definitely rounding the corner of crippling doubt. “This seemed like a really good idea when I booked it.” Then quickly, “I’ll get a room, obviously.”

Zach scolds himself for being the worst at possibly everything. He tries to remember the last time he felt like a fully functioning adult. It wasn’t that long ago, actually. The mighty have definitely fallen — and fast.

“You absolutely will not,” and there it is, the normal human being inside of him. “I’m just halfway to a mess right now and don’t want you getting the upper hand. Guest room was mostly intact the last time I checked. You may have to fluff your own pillows.”

“I always knew you were the rollover and snore type.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this?” Chris only _hmmfs_ in reply. “I only get to eat your pancakes if you’re staying here. So you’re staying here.”

Chris is definitely still running scenarios in his head, finally settling on a, “If you’re sure?” that couldn’t sound less confident if he tried.

“Undoubtedly so.”

Things don’t really stick closer to plan from there on out. He gets caught up in an inexplicable cleaning spree — somehow convincing himself that the level of organization his bathroom closet is boasting is somehow relevant to Chris' arrival. His shower pre-groom takes and excessively long time, a larger chunk than he’ll admit consisting of nothing more than him staring into the mirror wondering what Chris will think of him without his hair, as if there’s anything to be done about it. At best for him and worst for Chris it’ll only take 90 minutes to get across the city and the clocks are already sporting and alarming time before the dogs are even taken care of. He throws on a version of glorified pajamas, swearing he will absolutely find the time to change, as he wrangles the pooches onto their leashes and races them out the door.

The brats must have some form of canine-aptitude for frenzy sensing and decide that a languid walk and stopping to smell every god damn thing is the only obvious solution for calming him down. He’s in the middle of dragging them away from a fan who doesn’t seem to grasp that two-thirds-of-my-face sunglasses is code for, _I’m not open for business_ , when his phone chimes in, announcing his resounding failure.

_‘Knocking didn’t seem to do anything so I used my key. Did I misunderstand something?’_

_‘I’m on my way back! Sorry!’_ He frantically texts as he practically trips over himself trying to look like he isn’t running.

_‘Take your time. I’ll just occupy myself by inventorying the contents of your bedside drawer.’_

Zach knows he’s joking. Prays he’s joking.

 _‘You’d be vastly disappointed,’_ he bluffs anyways, not taking his chances.

_‘Oh, I highly doubt that, Mr. Quinto.'_

And just like that, the charade of power-walking is defeated.

Zach knows Chris has a key, he did willingly give it to him after all, so that isn’t why he’s steamrolling it back to his place. Chris has stayed before with him when Zach was in the middle of Broadway projects making him, as a host, an unreasonable source of entry due to show schedules. Hell, Pine’s even stayed at his place when he wasn’t even residing in New York, used his apartment to turn an international layover into a 2-day stay. At some point a one-way key exchange was just easier than choreographing one for each event. The same could be said for the one to Pine’s LA condo which resides permanently on his everyday key-chain despite it’s almost-never tier of use.

All of these things add up to a deeply confusing culmination. There is no reason for his stomach to be twisting up in Naval precision knots just thinking of Chris there without him, laid up on his couch, watching his TV, eating his food as if he belongs there.

He takes a deep breath, navigating himself back to reality, before opening his own door. A breath that reality, the fickle bitch, knocks right out of him with the sight of Chris on his balcony that he catches through the living room window. He’s only wearing a thin sweater as if his California blood doesn’t feel the cold, his long frame bent over to lean against the low railing, the arch of his spine and curve of his jut out hip instantly getting to Zach in the way they always have. That is to say — deeply. It’s all he can do to focus on that stupid hair blowing in the wind like the poster boy he’s most definitely become. 

The dogs must spy him too, the gruffing from them loud enough to carry through the glass, and Chris turns, catching his eye. He looks absolutely wrecked and genuinely happy, his hand coming up in a ridiculous wave that Zach returns.

Zach has every intention of going out there and joining him but by the time the dogs are released Pine’s already climbed back into the room, his pink cheeks giving away that maybe New York temps were getting the better of him after all.

“You didn’t have to dress up for me,” he smiles, gesturing to Zach’s baggy orange sweatpants and legitimately faded t-shirt.

Chris on the other hand looks good, really good, in slightly too tight dark jeans and a top Zach would actually be seen with him wearing. He refuses to tell him so, merely bunches up the front of his cardigan and pulls him into a hug so hard that Pine more falls than moves into it. Their arms maneuver into the one arm over, one under configuration they always manage to tangle themselves into, and when Zach pulls him tighter than is necessary Chris only responds by burying his nose into the crook of his neck.

“You make up for it by smelling nice,” he mumbles, his stubble tickling his throat.

“I just ran 2 blocks.”

“And you smelled superb doing it.”

“Are you as exhausted as you look?” Zach asks, trying not to sound genuinely concerned but it etches in there as an undertone nonetheless.

“Trading insults for compliments now, are we?” Chris laughs as he pulls away slowly and Zach relinquishes. He only takes a meager step back, one arm still cradling Zach’s rib cage.

“The last thing you’ve ever needed was a stroked ego. I’m just surprised you didn’t have to check these bags,” he says, swiping a thumb under Chris left eye, his fingertips brushing into the hair above his ear. “The grey has gained some more ground.”

Pine feigns offense even as he pushes into his palm the way a cat would. “I’ve had a long week, Quinto. I need love and support.”

“I never said it was a bad thing. The grey I approve of, the bags just worry me.”

“You like the grey, huh?”

And Zach doesn’t think he has the balls to answer that right now, not with how Chris’ whole body pulls off looking so smug.

“Do I look like I’m in any position to be judging someone’s hair, Christopher?”

Chris reaches up to give his mostly bare scalp a rub. “As bewitching as ever, the rest of us just no longer have to suffer such a debilitating rank demotion in your presence. Without those locks I may even be able to wrangle a solid 7 if you give me at least three feet between us.” 

“You're enforcing a personal space bubble on me?”

“Only in public,” he grins, “I'm afraid it's the cost of being a perfect 10, Zach,” as he finally releases Zach’s side. “I assume you have coffee for me somewhere in here right?”

“Right away, your majesty. My apologies for not having it prepared upon your arrival, your highness. Is there anything else I can procure for you, my lord?”

Chris and the couch make the same huff as he flops onto it.

“ _‘Beauty lives with kindness.’_ ”

“Your argument is as weak as your quote source,” he says all while, of course, giving into Chris’ demands and walking the 10ft to the open kitchen.

“You think so highly of yourself that you reside in position to mock Shakespeare?”

“I am simply of the humble belief that _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ is a better indie gay porno than it is a play.”

Chris tries to look scandalized but only looks proud. “Oh, is that your _humble_ opinion?”

“Would I dare to be discourteous?”

“Have I ever seen you courtly is a better question.”

“Things not to say to people holding your beverage, Christopher,” he says handing him a mug.

Zach takes a seat on the couch, his feet in a relaxed lotus position with his back against the arm. He sips it slowly, knowing it’s too hot, but desperately trying to find something to do with his mouth.

“Let’s play a game,” Chris snaps the silence, right as Zach starts reaching for the remote.

“A game?”

“A game. 20 questions, Pine style.”

“I cannot verbalize the level of foreboding the term, _Pine Style,_ carries.”

“Ass. It’s easy. 20 questions, 10 each. Brutal honesty, no pussyfooting. Only pass if you absolutely have to.”

“Most friends show up and want to have the, _‘What’s new with you?’_ chat.”

Chris only shrugs. “You can decline.”

This could be a dangerous road but hell if he doesn’t want to drive down it. The two of them have always tried to walk an honest path with each other but their avoidance capabilities have reached nationally broadcasted political debate levels on plenty of occasions. Pine can swerve a question so well you may not even realize it until a week later. So despite the trepidation hovering around the possibilities of what he may be forced to answer, there’s a bit of an adrenaline rush attached to the idea of tying Chris down and forcing him to look a question in the eye.

“I accept.”

Chris barely has time to hear his agreement before, “1. What was the first thing you thought when you saw it?”

Well, that’s an easy one. “That it was photoshopped.”

Chris frowns at him. “You know what I meant. Dodging will be considered cheating.”

“I was hurt and mostly upset at myself for it. I like to pretend I know everything about you and I don’t think it would have been a less subtle correction if I had been shoved off a cliff named, _‘you don’t.’_ ”

Chris immediately dictates that responding isn’t a mandatory part of the game when he merely gestures for Zach to go with the level of patience you’d use with a car who arrived at a 4-way stop 30 seconds before you did.

“Why didn’t you call me that morning?”

“Do you have any regard for this game? Say 2 or we’ll get completely muddled here,” Zach holds up his hands in surrender. “Is wild embarrassment too obvious an answer? I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to believe you’d see it? I know you escaped the pretense of thinking I’m perfect a long time ago but I don’t want you thinking I’m that either.”

Zach sort of desperately wants to know what, _that,_ is.

“3. What was the second thing you thought?”

Zach rolls his eyes, “Is this going to be a pattern? Cause I’ll warn you know, I don’t think I had past a 5th reaction.”

“I answer yours, you answer mine.”

Zach thinks about it. “I guess… just that you didn’t really look like you were enjoying yourself. 4. Were you?”

Pine turns his whole body towards him, pulling a knee up onto the cushion where it presses into Zach’s calf. “Why’d you think that?” Zach merely raises an eyebrow. “Okay. Sort of? Giving head isn’t like my bees knees but I wasn’t having a bad time. It’s more of a fair trade situation when it comes to Justin. 5. Why’d you think that?”

_When it comes to Justin._

Shrugs, “Your eyes were just all scrunched up, like you were desperately trying to keep them closed. But maybe it was just the flash.”

“Is there a question mark there?”

Zach doesn’t really know what eye opening answer there could be to give on the subject but offers, “6,” anyways.

“I always keep my eyes closed,” shrugging. “Head, going down on a girl, sex, even kissing… I guess I’m just more of a touch sensory, less of a visual, kind of guy.”

Zach hates that he knows absolutely that the last of those things isn’t true. He wonders if Chris does. If Chris has to fly to the other side of the world to make out with his eyes wide open or if it requires the right kind of whiskey to loosen them up or if takes Zach — 

Chris cuts into his mental rambling, staring at his jeans, picking at a wayward string near the inseam.

“7. Have you talked to your people about this? Or thought about it? I probably should have asked that before showing up.” Zach knows he’s not supposed to ask questions but he has no idea what the fuck Chris is even asking and just hopes the blank stare helps him get the picture. “Being seen with me and stuff? I mean yeah this could be going epically worse but the whole thing is possibly redefining my entire career and it’s being spun in a lot of not so flattering ways. I don’t want to drag you into it.”

And Zach is furious that he’s even thinking about it. “Fuck that. No, I haven’t talked to them and I’m not going to. You’re — I’m not embarrassed about you being here. That’s not a thing that’s going to happen. Release a sex tape, come out as a furry, publish a self help book — I will totally judge you, but I’ll never be ashamed of you. My door will always be open, Chris. There’ll just be a lot of mockery inside of it.”

Chris doesn’t really look at him but there’s a quarter of a smile there in return and that’s another coin in the small victories bucket.

“So. Mr. Corduroys, or should I say, _Justin?_ Are you guys… together?”

“That’s seriously your question?”

“It's a reasonable question!”

“Say 8 then. And no. I mean, it’s Justin,” he says as if that means something to the other half of the couch company. “You don’t recognize Justin?”

It takes Zach a moment before hitting him with the grace of a semi-truck. “ _Sound Tech_ Justin?” Chris just nods. “That’s sound tech Justin?” The nodding continues. “So this has been going on since…”

Chris holds up a hand, “Let me answer your original question. It was just a fluke thing that he even found out about me during the filming of Beyond,” Zach nearly chokes on his own spit but before he can get anything out, “And we’ve probably hooked up about half a dozen times total, almost solely during filming. But I had been going through some shit and was feeling self deprecating and he ended up being at this party last August and I had just the right amount to drink to make me think this would help and, well, it fantastically did not.”

Zach is never going to be given enough questions to wrap his head around this, mumbling, “Those times I saw him coming out of your trailer….?”

“Not your turn,” but he nods anyways. “9. Do you like the beard, goatee, or clean shaven better?”

“Seriously? Your ego is taking precedence here?”

“When am I ever going to get your proper opinion about this? If I ask on any given Tuesday we both know you’ll just pick the one you think is worse to be an asshole.”

He does have a point. “The beard has grown on me. 10. Why didn’t I know you were, quote, going through some shit, unquote?”

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was a pathetic loser?”

“Oh is _that_ what total unbridled truth looks like?”

Chris just looks at him for a long breath, an alarming amount packed into his expression. Disappointment, oddly, seems to be the standout and Zach is trying to work out what that could possible mean in this capacity when it suddenly all shifts to remorse.

“Then pass.” Zach puffs out a cough of disbelief. “Seriously. Pass.”

There’s a short staring contest, one that Chris will clearly not be backing down from. Zach tries not to pout, fighting the urge to demand an explanation if he’s not going to get an answer. “Fine, okay.”

“11. What’s all this about you not knowing that I'm bi?”

“I think that’s a pretty self-answering query.”

“Clarifying: How did me accosting you in Berlin not shake the validity of my you-conceived heterosexuality?”

“You were drunk,” he states plainly. “I just thought you had trashed-brain.”

“I wasn’t drunk. Tipsy, _maybe,_ but I wasn’t out of my mind. Why would you think I was?”

“Because you told me you were, in the bar. The whole reason we left.”

Chris laughs. “I told you that because Zoe was right behind you and we needed a delicate escape plan. I remembered the waitress’ name for fuck’s sake.”

“So you were sober,” he summarizes, slowly.

“Ish,” is Chris' vague reply, complete with a so-so gesture.

“Then what the hell was happening in that hotel room?”

“Please don’t tell me I’m that unskilled, I must have made at least that much clear.”

“It just played like a lark. As if you thought I was daring you to make out with dude face and you were calling a bogus bluff.”

“If there was a bluff being called,” Chris says with a huff, “then it was only my own.”

“I’m not following. Despite yourself you don’t usually go around seducing costars, especially not ones you’re contractually tied to for the next decade.”

“I wasn’t seducing you. The majority of my plan actually revolved around you being pre-seduced. I thought,” there’s a sigh and a room scan, as if he’s searching for a focal point before settling on square in the middle of Zach’s chest. “I thought something was going on, and had been for awhile, but it wasn’t going on, which I didn’t know, so then I acted on the thing that I thought we were both doing but you weren’t doing it so I dropped it.”

“For the love of god, english, please.”

“You were gorgeous… “

“ _Were,_ ” Zach complains.

Pine continues, loudly, over him, “And smart and you made me laugh more than I think I ever had before and there was no way I wasn’t going to fall head over ass for you. By the time I realized I was — that I had this monstrous crush on you my young, naive, heart had decided that you had to of felt the same. I didn’t want to start anything while filming, I told myself it would mess with the screen energy, but really it was just nerves finding any reason to postpone. I don’t know if I ran out of excuses or if our jaunt through France had flared up the homoerotic subtext in our lives but something about that night just hit the jump start hard.”

“And after — why didn’t you bring it up again?” 

“Cause I knew it was ridiculous, Zach. We had this great thing already in progress that was almost unbearably too much as it was. It wasn’t a boat that needed to be rocked. And it wasn’t like my dreams of us living happily ever after as we flew into the sunset in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang were ever going to be based in reality.”

“Horrifying choice of movie reference.”

“Would you rather be Sandy and Danny?”

“I refuse to encourage you with an answer. Was the flying automobile always a fantasy requirement?”

Chris chuckles, almost enough to sound real. “Ultimately, the car part turned out to be negotiable. You weren’t, so I let it go.”

He doesn’t know which crushes the most: the ‘you weren’t’ or the ‘I let it go,’ but something in that statement is most definitely eating his heart for dinner right out of his chest. If Chris would only doubt himself enough to ask then maybe Zach would have the courage to say, _I don’t think I ever did._

But Chris only huffs out, “I have lost complete control over this number thing, I told you this would happen. I’m calling it 17. Do you regret it?”

“I regret not asking you about it. I regret assuming you didn’t remember that it happened.”

“I was not acting that drunk!”

“But no. I mean somehow despite never dealing with it properly we still ended up here. And it’s an absolutely fantastic story to mutter about when we’re old and grey, well, _greyer_ ," he adds with a pointed look, continuing only when Chris doesn't bite. "But no, I don’t think there’s a reason to regret it.”

And Chris looks a little sad at that. How on Earth could that not be the answer that he wanted?

“Why? 18. Do you?”

“I regret thinking things could be that easy. Can you even imagine what it would have been like if we actually had gotten our shit together? We never could have handled it, redefining disaster,” he stares at his hands back at it with that loose string. “So I guess I agree with you? I’m glad that we’re still friends despite it.”

Zach has about a million more questions, most some variation of, _So when you say ‘I let it go’ does that translate to it actually being gone?_ or even _Don’t you ever feel like we’ve been living in the world’s longest prelude?_ , both of which he is desperately hoping that Chris asks first. But he doesn’t.

“19. Did you ever tell anyone about it?”

“Just Joe. Recently.”

And suddenly he knows he’s about to chicken out before he even opens his mouth.

“What’s the thing you miss most about the Trek days?”

“Not trying to fit me and Justin onto that trailer pull-out, I’ll tell you that.” Zach glares back. “You. Being in the same place as you for that long at a time. But you already knew that, compliment whore.”

Zach sits up straighter, determined to say something meaningful in a least one of these conversations. A, _Me too_ , or a braver, _I miss you, all the fucking time,_ would do wonders here. But Chris decides to pivot his leg back off of the couch a split second after Zach’s hand starts reaching out for his knee and it’s so badly timed that there isn’t a moment to correct the trajectory. His fingers barely brush his target as Chris continues to move, sliding past it until they land firmly in upper thigh territory. Chris is right there, close enough to count the abounding hues of blue, and Zach really does have every intention of still saying _anything_ of importance. However, when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a soft, “ha,” that surely must mean something really charming to one of his neurons. 

Their current perpendicular seating arrangement isn’t making it particularly easy to meet his eyes head on and yet Zach still feels like he’s under a microscope with the way Chris is fixed on him. While one side of his brain is wrestling with his desire to fidget under the lens the other decides that now is the optimal time to adopt one of Pine’s nervous ticks and he’s licking his lips before he can yell at himself not to. Chris follows the movement of his tongue, staring at his mouth, and Zach’s heart is beating so fast at this point that his whole body is inundated with the sensation of falling.

He doesn’t even realize he’s started gripping Chris’ thigh until Pine’s eyes drop to it and for a breath they both just stare at the way Zach’s fingers press into the denim covered skin. A circuit finally resets and his hand pulls away too quickly to be casual, moving it down to an area where Zach couldn’t try to guess what Chris has in his pocket. They barely make eye contact before Chris’ gaze skirts away once more, this time to his ear.

“I’d like to re-submit my answer. It’s definitely the Spock ears,” he smiles as he looks past him, standing up and forcing the hand off as he starts to walk away. “Gotta wash the plane off of me. What’re you making me for dinner?”

And the world’s smallest coin goes in the jar as Pine shrieks when the pillow Zach throws hits him square in the back of the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would tell you I was sorry but in the spirit of _Pine Style_ I will not tell a lie. 
> 
> Chapter 5 up next week, thanks again for all the love!


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m just saying, Alberto Quinto the first must be rolling in his Tuscan grave,” it takes all of Zach’s Spock training to keep a straight face, refusing to let Pine get the better of him. “You know that they’re going to revoke your Italian heritage card if you don’t start whipping up some feasts for your guests, right? That kitchen of yours looks a little too pristine if you ask me.”

“ _Did_ anyone ask you, loafers?” Pine snorts. “And maybe if my guest gave me more than an hour’s notice that I was having a guest then I’d actually have something in the house to cook for the guest to eat?”

Chris manages to look a little guilty about that, even if it’s mostly just good acting, and Zach considers the option of letting him off the hook with a, _You know I don’t really care, right?_ Except Chris has always looked exceptional when he's pouting and Zach can find absolutely no reason to be kind about this. That is, until they pull up to the restaurant to find a swarm of paps outside and Chris’ whole face becomes a part of the floor mats.

“Who the hell is in there? A Jonas brother?”

Zach’s halfway through a laugh when Chris’ confused expression halts it in his throat. “Oh, god. I get that you’re into the whole off the grid vibe when it comes to social media but if the _Jonas Brothers_ are your go-to for A-Listers then we’ve completely lost you at sea.”

A pause and a hopeful, “Adele?”

“Closer,” he says, looking past Pine and out to the crowd of cameras. “We could go somewhere else?”

“You promised me autentica cena Italiana,” cruelly opening the door before Zach has a chance to make his Mario Brothers reference.

Most of the hubbub is obviously directed at Chris and for once reasonableness makes a brief guest appearance. A sizable portion of questions seem to be along the line of, _How are you doing?_ , and seem willing to accept Chris’, _Thanks guys_ , as a disjointed response. Several delve into inappropriately personal territory but at least remain in the viewing sphere of civility. In fact, Zach only has to glare at one photographer who is probably lucky that the only part of her inquiry he hears is the term, “Sexual History.”

That is, until one decisively loud voice asks, “How does Miles feel about you hanging out with Chris?” Usually there’s very little they can do to get his visible attention, he has a particular passion for sticking them with nothing but profile shots, but this is so unexpectedly loaded that Zach actually turns to look at the guy as he adds, “Now that the two of you are back together?” There's probably just enough time for Zach to get photographed looking thoroughly flustered before Chris is all but yanking him through the door.

The hostess seems apologetic, at least, not that Zach thinks she called in the hounds. Without much context she makes a joke about a local politician going out for an intimate dinner for two only to forget his wife at home, stating more plainly that she hopes the frenzy will be gone long before they’re ready to go.

“Considering they’ve already slipped out the back door,” she says quietly as they slide into their booth.

Zach doesn’t even have his coat off yet and he’s already hiding behind a menu trying to figure out how exactly he wants to broach the topic. Chris heard that guy just as well as he did and he feels like he should explain, even if he’s not sure why. All he _does_ know is that he can practically feel an entire subgroup of brain cells forming a union on this and that none of them are going to let him sleep tonight unless Chris is caught up. Zach and Miles are emphatically in the done category, and even if they weren’t, he would never feel the need to explain his friendship with Chris to anyone. The two of them and their rapport-gone-codependency have always resided as a perennial feature in his personal take it or leave it column. But being too eager to explain that Miles is over feels almost like an accusation and a confession at the same time.

He peaks over the appetizer section to find Chris all but glowering at him.

“Zach, articulate.”

In the whole of human history nothing has ever sounded more culpable than his, _“Hmm?”_

“I can see you over there tail spinning trying to figure out how to casually bring up what that one distinguished gentlemen said to you without bringing up the less delightful things the rest were saying to me,” and god, Zach wishes he were the magnanimous person Chris thinks he’s in league with and not the self-absorbed bottom feeder he’s devolving into. “I figured I’d save us both the trouble of getting you out of that trench you’re digging before you hit the mantle,” all the while managing to look horrifyingly neutral. “So are you?”

“I think maybe someone saw us yesterday. I still had something of his so we exchanged it over coffee and ended up talking for awhile. It was actually kind of nice, but no, it wasn’t anything like that.”

“Do you want to be?” And Chris doesn’t seem to be a big fan of eye contact today.

“He’s with someone else.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“No, I don’t,” and Zach swears a muscle in Chris’ jaw relaxes at that. “I thought you liked Miles?”

Chris looks genuinely taken aback, “I did. I do? There wasn't much not to like,” scanning the room as if he's searching for anyone else. “So if you aren’t looking for a relationship resuscitation why do you sound like someone just stole your puppy?”

“I guess it just worries me how much I don’t want it. In a weird way maybe I wish that I did.”

“Martyr much? Didn’t you just say he's with someone?”

“Everything has a downside. I suppose I don't _actually_ wish that I did.” Chris just looks confused and Zach takes pity on him. “On paper, it was a match made in gay heaven. We shared a space well, we could deal with each other’s schedules, we had similar life plans. If I can’t make it work under those circumstances, can I make it work with anyone?”

“Ah, the spinster panic,” Zach laughs his way through a groan. “So why do you think you couldn’t?”

And that cuts a little too close to his other conundrums to really anatomize with Chris only a table width away.

“Why does anyone break up?”

Chris shrugs. “With Anna, she was absolutely perfect in every possible way, except one.” Zach raises an eyebrow as Chris dramatically pauses under the guise of scratching his cheek. “She wasn’t someone else,” he’s staring at his water as he slowly starts spinning it by the base. “Does that make sense?”

“It does,” he assures, knowing full well they’re hanging that thought in two very different frames.

“I should have talked to you about how that all degenerated, I wanted to. But it felt like every time I shook my inner magic 8 ball all I’d ever roll was a, _‘Better not to tell you now,'_ " his eyes crawling across the table to where Zach’s hand is resting, Chris’ thumb twitching, pulling streaks through the condensation on his glass.

Chris goes to say something else when a waiter comes with the bread basket, his face goes through several reboots before finding the polite smile file and loading it up. Somehow he’s able to reel off an order despite Zach swearing that he never touched the menu and Zach’s left to scramble, reciting the first thing he sees on the paper. Chris doesn’t even seem to notice, a roll already plucked from the pile becoming the sole addressee of his attention.

“It isn’t too late to talk about it, if you wanted to. I tried to ask about it more but every time I did you redefined cold shoulder.”

Half of Chris' face pulls together in a twitch before looking guilty for it, “There isn’t much to say, which kind of says it all.”

“You didn’t seem so miserable together.”

He hasn't even glanced at him, turning over the roll he’s still toying with in his hands like a palm stone. “I’m 38.”

“You keep saying that like it’s a death sentence. May I remind you that you’re speaking to someone 3 years your senior.”

Chris nods sharply, as if Zach's just made his whole point. “And don’t you — don’t you ever feel like it’s time to stop settling?” Staring at that _damn bread_ with a bucket’s worth of hope, like at any moment it’ll transform into a life raft that Chris could just paddle away on.

“What exactly are you asking me? If I’ve come to think the only way to be happy is through injurious compromise?”

Another shrug as Chris continues to refuse to look at him, and Zach would rather do a solo running man on the table then have this half of a conversation without even the courtesy of Chris’ full consideration.

Zach immediately decides that he’s had it, “Enough with the fucking bread and the whining,” snatching the offensive item away from him, ripping a piece of it off with his teeth before shoving it back into Pine's hands. Chris looks like a fascinating mixture of delighted and shocked as the smile Zach has thoroughly missed takes over his face. “Yes, Pine,” he gets out around a mouthful of sourdough, “Sometimes I wonder whether the only way to be happy is to compromise the very meaning of what happiness looks like. But other times I tell myself that the whole point of it being the right person, at the right time, is that those compromises wouldn’t feel like such a detriment. Then there are the nights when I just lay awake wondering if I’m just spoiled and ungrateful and missed my chance because I’ve been the one asking too much all along. The worst though? _The worst_ are the moments where I can see what I want so clearly that I know there must be a line of bad coding somewhere in the macrocosm or else cruelty really is the law of the living. Because it feels like it’s right there in front of me, and I’d freely make any concession just to have it, but the universe refuses to sell.”

There's a pause as the dust clears, Chris seeming to give the words their due moment.

“That was quite a speech,” at least looking in Zach’s direction, even if his eyes only manage to make it up to his chest.

“You asked quite a question.”

“So _are_ you happy?”

“Am I happy?” Chris nods. “I suppose I have no reason not to be. I have a great family, a successful career, amazing friends, my health, flawless fashion sense,” he dips his head to peer innocently at Chris over the frame of his glasses. “It’s the happiness dream team.”

Chris’ eyes finally level with his. “But _are you_?”

“Most of the time.”

“And the rest of it?”

“The rest of it,” he swallows, “The rest of the time I spend knowing there could be a plenitude more and not having a damn clue on how to get there.”

“Yeah,” Chris responds quietly. “Me too.”

The waiters tiptoe in with their meals, seeming to sense they’re interrupting something, but Zach tries to smile at them nonetheless. It’s not their fault that they’ve been stuck with a pair of assholes with a penchant for lugubrious rumination in public spaces.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Chris says as soon as they’re alone again, his voice much clearer than the last time he spoke. “I’m not sure I ever mentioned that. I sort of… barely squeezed this in,” as if it were completely relevant to their current conversation.

Zach doesn’t know what to say to that. A piece of him can’t help but feel like Chris just made this decision now and he’s frantically trying to figure out what he could have said to chase Chris back out of the state. But that’s childish and stupid and he tells himself that assumptions haven’t lead him anywhere good as of yet.

“Well. To being here at all,” and he holds up his wine glass for the world’s most somber toast.

 

* * *

 

The hostess’ prediction is fulfilled and the photographers are gone by the time they leave, making their entry into the cab a way more peaceful one than their exit. Zach stares out the window, watching the way the clouds leisurely take over the sky. _Looks like rain,_ he thinks, but he refuses to be the guy that talks about the weather just because he can’t think of anything more intelligent to say.

Chris must finally be out of words too because he doesn’t talk, just not so subtly starts to slide over the seat until Zach gives in and looks at him. He’s grinning like an idiot, pleased as pie to be caught, as he finally finishes his migration.

“God, you’re a menace.”

And just for that he leans against Zach just a little bit more, knees to shoulders pressed together.

“But I’m _your_ menace.”

 

* * *

 

The only logical consequent of a meal long conversation about the futility of life and the pursuit of happiness in a meaningless world is to watch a docu-series on Netflix about serial killers. Zach’s unspoken forecast is proven right and the rain slams against the window as they share a couch, Zach even going as far as letting Chris’ feet stretch out onto his lap. There’s only the offhand comment, growing rarer and rarer, until Zach laughs at the gloriously atrocious acting in a slice and dice scene and Chris only grunts in response.

Oncing him over it’s clear that he's been falling asleep for awhile, his eyes just a sliver of the way open, his head leaning against his hand at the most uncomfortable angle. And Zach would leave him here, he really would, but Chris’ neck would hate him for it in the morning. He shakes Chris’s ankles a bit as he slips out from under them, the movement disturbing him just about back to consciousness. By the time Zach makes it around the coffee table his eyes are mostly open and Zach steals his hand from under his cheek only to have Chris try to snatch it back.

“You’re no spring chicken, Pine. If you sleep on the couch I am not listening to you gripe about your back tomorrow.”

“Oh, we both know that you would,” Chris chuckles even as he swings his feet out to the floor.

He looks up at Zach, hand still in his, and in the light of the TV something clearly shifts. His eyes focus as the rest of him softens, the very corner of his mouth pulled up in something that isn’t a smile or a smirk but a wholly different expression than either. It only gets worse when Chris uses his grip as leverage, pulling himself up into Zach's space with the use of his own hand, pressing them both against Zach’s chest. He goes to pull his away and Chris only holds it tighter, pressing it harder against his sternum each time Zach tugs.

“I don’t know if you’re even awake enough to appreciate how much you need to go to bed.”

“I will, just—”

As soon as he’s done licking his lips, Chris proves once again that he has lost all sense of moderation. The eye contact Zach was practically begging for at the restaurant is now all being doled out at once in his confined living room to the soundtrack of underpaid actors pretending to dig up a body.

Chris takes a breath and Zach tries not to hold his.

“I’m too tired to do this our normal way where I annoy you to the point of exasperation before finally getting to the endearing affirmation at the end of agitation avenue, so for the first time in our entire friendship I’ll be brief.”

“This is already literally the antonym of brief.”

“Thank you for picking up the slack in my absence,” Chris’ fist finally relents, releasing Zach’s hand and sliding up to curve over the trap of Zach’s shoulder, thumb pressing in to the underside of his jaw just slightly. “Zachary John Quinto, you may have a remarkably unremarkable middle name—”

“We all heard him say, _brief_ , yes?” He pretends to ask the dogs.

“ —but you still deserve to be happy. So it whatever it is, start doing it,” allowing his hand to slip off Zach’s shoulder as he starts walking away. “I’m going to go fluff a pillow.”

“What if I’m sick of playing white, huh?” He cracks back, way too late.

Chris either doesn’t hear or doesn’t want to and the universe only answers with the sound of the guest room's door clicking shut down the hall.

 

* * *

 

Zach wakes up to a knuckle rap on his door about .4 seconds before it swings open, Chris’ head poking through the gap.

“It’s 10, I’m leaving in 2 hours, and breakfast is getting cold. Put some pants on, sunshine, there’s plenty of caffeine out here.”

It takes him about 7 minutes to actually get out of the room despite already, in fact, having pants on. He doesn’t even put on different ones despite them being the most unfortunate cargo-sweatpants hybrid that long ago lost their drawstring and Zach only having _just_ enough hip curvature to defy gravity. His shirt is at least a size too big and scrubbing his hands over his face is a pleasant reminder that he’s sporting his normal pre-noon 5 o’clock shadow.

That is to say, he looks exactly like the mess that he is.

He waves Chris’ beckoning off to go at least piss and brush his teeth. There’s some fantastic gymnastic work done in the bathroom all for the sake of him avoiding looking at his own reflection before he finally allows himself to follow the delectable scents of empty carbs and bacon fat into the kitchen.

Chris has already perched himself on one of the bar stools around the island, looking like a damn JC Penny centerfold in his obviously slept in pajamas. He’s typing something out onto his phone with a damn strip of bacon dangling from his mouth, almost losing it to the looming dogs when he smiles too wide at Zach. His hair is rewriting the definition of _extensive_ , falling across his face and Zach has to remind himself of every single reason he shouldn’t march over there and tuck it back behind Chris’ ear himself.

Zach manages to keep his fingers in check as he takes the stool next to him, nearly draining his pre-poured coffee before Chris bumps his shoulder, signifying the send off of his text.

“Where did you even get all of this? None of this was in my fridge.”

“Aware,” he snorts back. “I ran to the store when I woke up. Took the dogs for the adventure.”

“And if I had awoken to find my apartment empty, my best friend and my canine companions stolen from me in the middle of the night? What if I had called the cops?”

“That’s funny, you awake before 9. And still…” Chris taps on his phone before holding the screen up to Zach where there reads a text, _‘Don’t call the cops. We’ll be back in a bit!’_ , sent to him over an hour ago.

“So you’ve thought of everything then, huh? Very intricate planning at play here, suspicious,” as he exaggeratedly takes a bite of his bacon.

“If you don’t want the pancakes, don’t eat the pancakes,” as he starts reaching for Zach’s plate.

Zach immediately picks it up, twisting it away from Chris, “Oh you’d like that! Wouldn’t you?”

Chris’ chuckle is bordering on giggling, every single one of those laugh lines accounted for, and Zach lets himself get stuck on that question Chris asked him last night.

“I am happy, you know?”

Zach can’t blame him for looking like a bomb just went off.

Chris blinks at him a few times. “Sorry, that was quite a channel change on your part. Where are we?”

“Last night. I made it sound like I’m not happy, that’s clearly the message you walked away with. But I am. You’re such a prodigious cog in my life, particularly the favorable aspects, and it’s shitty as hell of me to make it sound like it isn’t enough. I am eternally grateful for you and your pancakes.”

“Wanting more doesn't make you a bad person.”

And Zach thinks it couldn’t hurt anyone to believe they’re talking about the same thing for just a second. He nods, and smiles, and allows them to eat their breakfasts in shared crunching silence.

Chris insists on doing the dishes with a, “Well you were just so put out about the coffee yesterday, I’m not sure if I could ever do enough to pay you back,” that Zach is only mostly sure he deserves, willing to let it go when Pine comically kisses the top of his head as he reaches over his shoulder to steal his scraped clean plate.

They watch the world falling apart on the news, both them and the dogs squeezed onto the couch despite the multiple empty chairs, every so often pretending they don’t catch each other staring out of the corner of their eyes. The minutes tick down faster and faster until Chris takes a deep breath that signals the beginning of the end.

“I’m half tempted just to fly in this,” he says gesturing to his ever wrinkling outfit.

“Far from the worst thing you’ve ever worn in an airport.”

Chris doesn’t disagree but he still gets up to change, emerging an alarmingly short time later in a different version of the outfit he arrived in, only sporting a much thicker sweater.

“You wear that flimsy nothing to New York in January and you wear this to boil in California.”

“Look good and dress appropriately? You ask so much of me, Quinto.”

“I ask literally nothing.”

“You have no idea,” he puffs out. “If you want to follow me around and play dress up doll every day, the position is wide open.”

He replies, “I would if I could,” way more sincerely than he intends to.

And Chris says, “I wish you could too,” in a mirrored tone as he pulls Zach up and wraps his arms around him.

Zach’s eyes press closed, wishing he’d prepared a, _You got this_ , speech to deliver with empathy while also feeling resoundingly happy just to stand here and pilfer enough of Chris to last him until next time. He tucks his face in, just a bit, and breathes a tad too deeply.

“Christopher, are you wearing my cologne?” His voice muffled by the knitted collar.

“You weren’t supposed to notice,” he chuckles. His shoulder bouncing against Zach’s chin as he shrugs. “Guess I wasn’t done smelling you yet,” and starts pulling away like he has any right to avoid explaining himself.

There’s a hundred things Zach wants to say, and suddenly every moment he’s wasted becomes egregiously clear. He should have asked if Chris thinks there’s even a first chapter to write for them, should tell him that if means half the shit Zach thinks he might be saying then he’d jocundly get off this nauseating merry-go-round with him, no questions asked.

But when he finally let’s himself step away and has to face him it feels like he’s being shoved off of a building.

There’s a feeling of déjà vu that starts in his solar plexus and rapidly vines across his body until it’s wrapped around this throat, squeezing too tightly from the inside. Chris looks utterly raw in a way that bleeds beyond his exhaustion, a vulnerability sweeping off of him that is almost painful to observe. He’s staring into Zach as if he has a secret to tell, something important and bigger than him, even as the weight of it has begun breaking his back. It’s caught, just barely squandered as Chris sucks the very edge of his bottom lip between his teeth and just holds it there. His eyes are dancing without actually breaking contact, as if they’re trying to find one particular piece of iris to lock onto, like maybe that alone could translate. He looks as scared as the time he witnessed Zach almost getting plowed over by a bus, as hopeful as Zach’s ever seen him, and the rest is a jumble of contentment and confusion and that _something_ he saw once in Chris when a song he wrote ripped Zach apart so badly that he actually cried. He knows Chris is laying something out for him, a piece of himself that may not be quantifiable any other way. There’s something about it that leaves Zach feeling naked and pinned and definitely in need of oxygen by the time Pine finally blinks, his eyes returning to their normal depth, and not the miles deep they were just drilling into him. Even the smile seems to be creeping back, a bittersweet one, as he side steps out from between Zach and the table, his hand dragging across his bicep as he pulls it away.

He’s been held by that look before, on the other side of the globe, by the same exact blue. He can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved that he’s, if anything, less immune to it today than he was back then. But fuck if Zach knows any better now what it’s asking from him. Zach thinks if he could have just one more second, just one more breath of whatever it is, then maybe he’d finally get it. And then, maybe, he’d know how to answer.

But Chris already has his back to him, and a moment can’t be shared by one. So he picks up Chris’ bag from where it’s been abandoned and hugs it to himself as he walks the whole 25 steps to the door, and leans in one more time for a much more casual hug as he stands between Chris and the rest of the world.

Chris plucks the bag off of him, slinging it over his shoulder and reaches for the knob.

“Stay gorgeous, New York,” he smiles at Zach, and it’s off, so very off, as he exits into the hallway.

Zach's not sure he's pitiful attempt at an, "Always," is even loud enough to be heard.

Chris is around the corner, possibly out of the building, before Zach finally shuts the door.

 

* * *

 

He calls Joe. There isn’t even a hello.

“So. He’s in the city?” His brother certainly knows how to weave meaning into a tone.

“I would give just about anything to see the profile the FBI has pieced together for you based on your internet history. Do you just have me googled, set on 30 second refresh?” Joe doesn’t respond. “For the next couple of hours, he is, yeah.”

“He’s leaving?”

“Left, actually. He’s on his way to the airport as we speak.”

“So... did you… I’m not exactly sure how to word this here,” and Joe being delicate is a brand new thing for Zach.

“What do you think?” Only he really didn’t intend for it to sound so beaten.

“Well I know the leading man doesn’t normally take off at the end of the film so I’m guessing you didn’t find your gonads long enough to make any proclamations of love.”

“That’s great,” Zach sighs, “I’m not even the leading man in my brother’s vivid imaginings.”

“You got the dark and mysterious, man, but _those abs_.”

“I used to have abs,” he sniffs.

“You also used to have a mustache. You’ve made lots of interesting choices,” and now Zach’s being laughed at. “He flew to New York, you pussied out, now you’re calling me. Advice? Pep talk? Am I just supposed to shame you into action?”

“You know that look you mentioned?”

“Looks. Plural. As in constant.”

“Fine. What does it look like?”

“I don’t know, Zach, watch a romcom,” his patience is already peeling away. “Why are you asking this?”

“Because I’m starting to think that I have no idea what I’m talking about anymore.”

There’s a beat of silence on Joe’s end, just long enough for Zach to add this phone call to his grotesquely long list of this week’s regrets.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Joe sounds excited and that could be a very bad thing. “Go into your bathroom.”

“What?”

“Will you just let me help you for once?”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbles, following the order. “I’m in the bathroom.”

“Are you standing in front of the mirror?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t actually look at yourself, alright? Just stare right at your chest or something. And just listen? Don’t roll your eyes,” he rolls his eyes, “just listen.”

“I’m listening.”

“Take 5 seconds to actually feel how you feel about Chris. You don’t have to label it, you don’t have to put it in a nice, tidy, package. Just actually let yourself feel it.”

“What is this?” He feels like he’s being mocked again, this area of his psyche a little too sore to be poked at the moment.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“ _No._ ”

“Zach. Please.”

“ _Okay,_ ” he breathes in and out twice, finding the forbidden file cabinet and digging into that drawer in his brain which he keeps the DO NOT folders locked up in.

The way Chris always manages to get the seat next to him by sheer force of will, Zach’s favorite laugh — the one that devastates Chris’ whole body for 10 minutes at a time, how Chris looks when he’s half buzzed and dancing.

“Don’t try to figure out how he feels, or how you should, and don’t play out scenarios. Don’t let yourself feel guilty about it either, just focus on him, yeah?”

And now that he’s started it becomes easier and easier. The ridiculous books he’s always recommending, the look on his face when he found out Zach had thought the first one was a joke. The ever escalating stupidity of the mugs Chris buys him every Christmas, how he taught himself to use skype for the single purpose of watching Zach open this year’s _Christ, Coffee, & Cardio_ addition. His voice when he sings, his answer for everything, his penchant for falling asleep without noticing.

“Are you taking this seriously?”

“Shut up,” Zach snaps back.

They were at Chris’ place. It was the summer after _Into Darkness_ had been released. There had been a pool and wine and way too much sun without enough screen, Chris’ pale skin already treading the edge of pink by the time they had made it inside. Dean Martin was explaining Chris’ grin as he crashed into Zach on the couch, ignoring the 3rd cushion per usual to crowd against him. His skin was even hotter than normal and Zach knew he’d lobster by morning but kept his mouth shut, figuring that could be tomorrow’s Chris’ problem. Today’s was starting to giggle as _Mambo Italiano_ found it’s legs.

“You should totally make this your first dance song at your wedding,” he had mumbled, his head coming down hard against Zach’s shoulder as he legs kicked out to the coffee table.

“Mmm, classy,” Zach had laughed back. “I should probably meet the guy first.”

Chris had only groaned, clearly just remembering Zach’s month-recent and final break up with John. “No worries,” he had assured, “I know a guy.”

Zach hadn’t replied and Chris hadn’t tried to spark a new conversation, his head getting heavier and heavier until the drool had finally pooled through Zach’s t-shirt during Martin’s _You Belong to Me_. Zach had been uncomfortably warm as Chris’ breath continued to blow over his throat, the old couch could barely bare the weight of two grown men sharing the space of one and Zach’s spine was already complaining about the way he sagged to the left. He was tired and reeked of chlorine and held his breath as each song ended, praying there’d be at least one more before the record scratched and Chris would pull away.

“Zach?” Joe vaguely sounds worried now.

And Zach would answer, his attempt sounds more like a dog’s toy being stepped on than a human being trying his best, but it’s all he can do to keep breathing around the lump in his throat. He makes a second go at some form of an affirmative statement and Joe seems to get the gist he’s batting at because his voice is a whole lot softer when he says, “Just hold onto that? Whatever you’re feeling,” Zach’s not even sure he makes a noise this time but Joe is merciful and only skips a beat before saying, “and just look up, Zach.”

He does and for one unbelievable second that god damn expression that has wrecked him for a decade is staring back at him with Zach’s own face.

“Zach?”

“I have to go, right now.”

It takes him just long enough to hang up that he hears Joe’s, “Fucking finally!”

He’s throwing on a coat before he remembers that Chris has left near 50 minutes ago now and there’s absolutely no way he can make up that type of ground at this hour of the day. Chris will get there well before him and once he’s through security he’s as good as left the east coast. This isn’t an 80’s teen romance where he can rush to the gate and proclaim his love and the crowd will cheer as Chris falls into his arms. But this _is_ 2019 and that comes with it’s own conveniences.

He pulls up Chris’ contact on his phone.

_‘I doubt you’ll have made it through security yet. Call me as soon as you can.’_

It’s almost an hour before his phone makes another noise after threatening Joe’s life if he doesn’t shut the fuck up immediately and forever. He’s damn near worn through a floor board when the blaring of his ringtone almost makes him hit the ceiling.

“Chris?”

“Zach? Is everything okay? I’m sorry, I turned my phone off as soon as I got here and the lines were —”

“I’m fine. I should have clarified that. But I need you to come back.”

Chris laughs, “Right, sure.”

“I’m serious. I need you to come back now.”

“What’re you talking about? Did I leave something there? Just mail it to me. Or hell, just leave it and it’ll be a coming home present the next time I’m in town.”

“No, I don’t know, I don’t think so. I’m serious though, don’t get on that plane.”

There’s a moment of silence while Chris tries to figure out exactly what Zach has been smoking. Zach can hear the background noise grow more and more distant as Chris searches for a private area in the world’s most communal setting.

“Zach, I just got through security. My flight leaves in like an hour. What is happening right now?”

“That party you were at, the one with Justin,” Chris makes a horrible whining noise in the back of his throat, “No, please. You said August, right?”

“What does this have to do with me missing my flight?” There’s a moment of silence before he gives in, “Yes.”

“Right after you flew out to visit me?” Chris doesn’t respond. “You were finally done with the press tour and you flew out here to see the end of Boys in the Band, only you were supposed to stay for a week and you, what? Took off after 3 days?” Still no answer. “And then you went back to California and in a fit of self deprecation you tangled up with Justin because you were, and I’m quoting, _‘Going through some shit.’_ ”

“Zach,” and it’s a warning.

“What happened? Why did you leave?” He sounds desperate even to himself. “You told me Jen forgot to tell you about an interview. But that was bullshit, am I right? Why did you lie about it then? And why wouldn’t you talk about it last night?”

“I can’t do this right now, Zach. I’m in an airport bathroom for fuck’s sake.”

“Fine. Then let’s do my favorite thing and talk about me. We both know you didn’t get your full 10 during that game. Ask me something, anything. No passing.”

“What do you want from me here?” It worries him sometimes, how small Chris is capable of sounding.

“Aren’t there a million things you wished that you had asked?" Chris doesn't respond. "There's not even one question you regret chickening out on?”

The silence stretches on. Zach sits himself down and has the results over pride talk. He’s getting ready to beg when —

“You kissed me back. _Why_ did you kiss me back?”

And that Zach absolutely knows the answer to.

“I’ll tell you, I swear I’ll tell you, but I need to do it face to face.”

“Zach—”

“Chris. I will pay for your flight. I will pay for all your flights for the rest of your life. I will call Jen and tell her I kidnapped you. I will tie you to a chair and we can stage some hostage photos and you can use them to excuse any meetings they’ve set up for you. But I am begging you, to please, come back.”

“You win,” he finally says. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this killing you? Because it's killing me.
> 
> If it's any consolation we're getting there. Slowly. Painfully. Unnecessarily. But we are, in fact, getting there.
> 
> Thanks once again for the love! It keeps me going.  
> See you next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a small fyi that the rating has been changed to E since this, like all things, has gotten away from me.

_I was in love._ It feels like that time he went skydiving. The plane engines roaring against the deafening wind, his heart plummeting at the sight of his toes hanging over the edge of nothing. There’s an exhilaration to it, both then and now, despite the apprehension. This huge, irreversible, dive is about to be taken in nothing but faith for no other reason then his desire to jump.

 _I was in love with you._ He flips the track settings to repeat in his head, as if his mental narration could loosen the way for his physical tongue. He's promised Chris the utmost truth on this and he's going to give it, consequences be damned. Chris is owed that, that mile-marker having been shot by eons ago.

 _I was in love with you. Hopelessly, inanely, in love with you._ Zach's always had the controversial predilection for the long road over the hard obstacle. It’s a preference that’s served him well, one he’d back to his grave. Only with Chris, something along the journey had been carelessly miscalculated. The longer course had grown into the harder way, marked with the subtlety of construction issue orange, if only Zach had doubted the chosen path long enough to look up from his boots and check. Such unwavering surety in his hand penned map, Zach had blatantly strode past each proclaimed shortcut as he clutched to the belief that he was doing the logical thing.

 _I've always loved you. It sounds like the grand finale of a high school marketed novella but if there's even the slightest reality in the concept of souls then mine most certainly knows yours, Christopher. And it loves you, Pine, more than I think I can even know._ He has to say it. He literally has to. And there's something about that lack of option that works as a calming balm. This is going to come out, whether he's off base or not, parachute gone unchecked, and conclusion be damned they'll at least be using the same atlas.

It doesn't stop his heart from thudding so acutely he swears he can feel it vibrating against his ribs when he hears Chris shuffle outside of the door. There’s a barely withstood moment as he waits for a knock, broken by the sounds of Chris’ key in the lock — letting himself in like he has every right to be in Zachary’s home. He may just be desperate for positive signs but Zach isn’t too proud to take what he can find.

Chris looks like a baby deer emerging from the forest’s edge, alone and exposed for the first time in his un-antlered life. His face is several miles of guarded, his body language robotically passive, and it weren't for those blue eyes being so wide and ultra focus on Zach the moment they land on where he stands in the middle of his apartment, then he may have lost the nerve at all.

“I was in love with you,” he blurts out, like one rips off a bandaid.

Chris just stares back at him, his expression barely altering as he absorbs the statement. His breathing is heavier than normal but measured and Zach could count the seconds passing with the rise and fall of Chris’ chest if he wanted to.

“I kissed you back for the simple fact that I had wanted to for years. And suddenly it was happening and I knew what you tasted like. I thought I knew what it would be like, you know? After the amount of time I'd spent calculating the arches of those lips, the mating rituals I'd observed girlfriend after girlfriend, I thought I'd have at least some clue as to what they'd feel like.”

Chris doesn't respond as Zach lets go of the stool back he's been clutching and crosses the room. He doesn't put his bag down, he doesn't blink, he doesn’t look away. The only thing assuring Zach that he's even still alive is that breath, getting more erratic by the minute, and Chris swallowing so hard Zach can hear it struggle even 5 feet away.

“I had wanted you so badly, for so goddamn long, and then your tongue was in my mouth and it felt like it made sense, Chris, despite a whole half of my brain blasting a car alarm to stop. You can't even imagine what those walls looked like some days, Guantanamo has nothing on the prison I kept how I felt about you in. Which only goes to show how fucking loud the way I loved you was, that it could drown out all that bullshit for as long as I gave us that night.”

Chris’ carry-on finally hits the floor with a resounding thud as Zach must encounter his shields at the 3 foot radius. He’s hoping that Chris will say something, almost anything, before he completely gives in to another outburst, his inability to ever see when he’s ahead once again radiantly front and center. Yet as Chris opens his mouth Zach thinks, this is it. The, _Me too,_ he's only just beginning to accept as an actual plausibility or the mortifying, _Oh, Zach, no,_ that may be his final undoing. These next words are a portal to either the end or the start of the most valuable thing he's ever been a part of. Something that has always been larger than he, himself, could ever carry alone.

But Chris only licks his lips as his eyes switch over from Zach to the living room and asks, “Can we maybe sit down?” His voice has a tremble to it, it hitting a bit too high for his normal register.

Zach doesn’t really remember walking over the couch but every detail of Chris picking the far cushion will be forever etched into his memory.

“I just don't get why you never told me, why you never even handed this out as a ballot option,” Chris asks the floor, his voice at least finding steadier footing.

“I thought you were straight, there was no option to offer. And I get it now, I get that you weren't but in a fit of self preservation I had convinced myself very early on that your love of vagina was an unrelenting law of the universe. You had to be off limits and I had to get over it or else I would have gone crazy.”

“But did you get over it?”

“Jesus, Pine, look at yourself. Of course I didn't get over it.”

“Even though you thought I was straight?”

Zach nods, “Exactly.”

“And that's why you kissed me back? Because even though you knew it couldn't be happening you were hoping that it was?”

Zach sucks on his teeth while he figures out how to word this in a way that leaves his pride some breathing room while remaining on an honest branch.

“Imagine a little girl waking up on her birthday. She takes one look outside and sees that there's a pony grazing in her backyard. Grey with a white nose patch, bright purple bows in its hair, just like she's always begged for. There’s going to be a pause of reality in that instant. It won't matter that her parents have told her a million times that she can't have one. It doesn't matter that they don't have a barn and sugar cubes and stirrups and… other horse related equipment.”

“Oh my god, have you never been on a farm?” And _that laugh_ is almost enough to right the entire ship.

“ _What matters is_ that she's woken up in the middle of a dream coming true right in front of her own eyes and there's going to be an adjustment period before context comes back. Eventually she'll notice that there's a horse trailer broken down out in front of the house, and a logo on the saddle that matches the truck, and she'll piece it together that she still can't have it. But who knows how long denial alone will fight that off.”

Chris looks at him, his expression loosening and his eyes warming and it gives Zach hope that wherever they decide to pull this wagon off the trail will be okay place to start building on. One way or another.

“And I'm the equestrian in this cautionary tale?”

Zach thinks about it, “I suppose _we_ would collectively be the horse it this scenario.”

“But you're the little girl?”

He forces a full smile, “Pigtails and all.”

“There was no trailer, Zach. No one was coming to haul anyone away to the glue factory.”

Zach swallows hard, fighting to keep eye contact and failing miserably as something a little too raw itches inside of him. “I know that now. I just. I never thought you could like me enough to buy me a pony.”

Chris’ eyes soften even more at that, his eyebrows pulling away from his eyes in the same subtle sadness you’d look at a mewling kitten with. The whole thing warps into resigned with a sigh.

“Derek.”

“Derek?” He plays the words association game alone while Pine patiently waits. “ _My_ Derek?”

Chris rolls his eyes, “Don’t call him your Derek, please.”

“Why are we talking about not-my-Derek?”

“It had been months since you had broken it off with Miles. We had gotten through the sobbing, through the uncertainty, and through most of the self hatred. You were back to laughing again, hell, he didn’t even come up in 9 out of 10 conversations. And when he did? You didn't pause before his name anymore. You were your whole self again.”

“That’s what people do, Chris, they move on.”

“I know, and I was watching you do it. Until one day when you told me you couldn’t believe how you had ever doubted yourself. That you were finally pointed in the right direction, with the right goals, and the right people around you,” Chris’ mouth smiles but the rest of him doesn’t it carry the tune. “You called me up and told me that I needed to fake an influenza and get my ass to New York. It was all about how Boys in the Band was ending and how normally you’d be a whiny brat about it, but that you were using it as metaphorical therapy. _‘My last new beginning,’_ whatever that meant, and you needed me here. I promised you I’d do my best and your whole voice completely changed, you dropped a fucking octave, and you told me,” Chris puts on his best Zach face, the least flattering impression he has in his arsenal, “ _‘Chris. I’m not fucking around anymore. Phase Two. I know what I want, and I have the balls to actually follow through this time, but I need you in New York if this is finally happening.’_ ”

And _oh._

“Phase Two was letting myself be alone for awhile instead of pushing myself into another relationship just because I think you shouldn’t be single at 40.”

“It sure was.”

“You thought Phase Two was the pony.”

The palm of Chris' hand has migrated up to his face where it attempts, and must fail, to pull the tension out of the muscles by his temple. His whole face cringes as he shrugs it away, trying to state casually, “I’m more of a ‘58 Brougham kind of guy.”

Zach feels his whole face fall, “The very first night I dragged you out for an aftershow drink with the cast and Matt wouldn't stop joking about one-night-Derek.”

“It wasn’t your fault that I canceled an interview to hear about your epic one night stand, it was where you were at.”

“It _wasn't_. I was trying to prove something,” Chris quirks an eyebrow in prompt. “I was tired of glue sticking your image onto other people's actions. I thought if it was someone I didn't know, someone I barely cared about, you wouldn't be interchangeable and that would be a start.”

“Nobody was asking you to settle for scrapbooking.”

“And how was I supposed to know you were shopping for transportation? The whole point of Phase Two was to get over the pony before I tried another Miles. I needed you here to prove I could be in the same room as you and not turn into a Disney princess. Results were not promising, if that matters.”

“And one-night-Derek?”

“He wasn’t born into the world as one-night-Derek, Chris. The decision had been made on him long before Matt ran the play-by-play review by you,” Zach tosses his pride into the grave, kicking and screaming. “I would have bought you whatever a Brougham is.”

“It won’t run for under 150 grand.”

“I would have bought you a piece of whatever a Brougham is. You a hubcap guy? Muffler?”

Chris chuckles and it's sweet and gentle as he finally scoots over, angling deep into Zach's space. His hands come up to perch on Zach’s shoulders, strong and balancing as they curve over the muscles there, centering his attention until there’s nowhere for it to flow but to Chris. His eyes are open and ready, full of fear and certainty alike, and Zach feels about a decade’s worth of stupid for not understanding what this look has always meant.

“We can adopt a pony, Zach,” voice plummeting in volume halfway through.

It’s the same sandpaper rough inflection he’s been assaulted by in theaters during commentary inspiring matinees and phone calls set so late they both whisper if only for fear of disturbing the stillness of the witching hours. There’s a turbulence in that voice that has always shaken Zach to the core, awoken every atom in his being and drawn them to attention. Which means every single cell of his brain is cognizant of Chris’ body when he starts leaning in.

“I don't want him to be lonely maybe you should—”

Chris’ hand comes up his neck, palming his jaw, thumb sliding over his lips to press his mouth closed.

Chris inclines in just enough more until there’s the phantom feeling of his lips on Zach’s, as if they’re both touching the same molecules of air, sparking them with just enough electricity to make each one of them a tangible thing. He can feel Chris’ breath on his cheek from where his head is tilted to the side, just barely able to focus due to the proximity as he attempts to count every eyelash around Chris’ wide open eyes. It feels too similar and in a glint of comprehension Zach realizes how important the things said before some moments need to be.

“Phase Two was announced a failure the moment you got here,” he mumbles around a thumb pad, watching the muscles shift under Chris’ skin, the complicated process of raising an eyebrow. “A, _Houston we’ve had a problem,_ level failure.”

And it’s an intimate thing, watching someone roll their eyes only inches away from yours. “You can’t even use the erroneous film quote like a normal fucking human.”

There’s not much of Chris’ expression he can see from this close but the crinkling around his eyes tell a large enough story on their own, “That isn’t what he _said,_ ” is all gets out before the finger sweeps away in time to be replaced by smile tight lips.

Zach would like to be disappointed in himself, he really would, when the noise he makes echos in his own ears. He’s 41, not 16 after all, and the simple collision of two mouths shouldn’t leave his vocal chords strumming the song of the third act. However, there’s 10 years of pressure in this can and if it’ll only be released with an audible bang then he’ll allow himself to fall apart without dignity. Zach’s mouth opens, pressing his tongue to the seam of the lips he’s been reliving for more than half of a decade and Chris literally hums as he reaches out to greet him.

Pine tastes like Zach’s pretentious coffee, like the first breath of country after 6 months in New York, riding that line of sharp and mellow the way he does with everything else in his life. Chris feels opulent and firm under Zach’s touch and he knows the sounds of sighed breaths and rustling clothes is deep enough to drown in alone.

His fingers are in Chris’s hair, holding his face, pulling him in and Chris follows him down. The second Zach’s shoulders press against the arm of the couch and they enter the horizontal plane the tone finds the next gear to shift into. Chris’ tongue goes from caressing to grappling and Zach’s first retort is to flick his tongue along the roof of Chris’ mouth just once. The rebutting whine is so startling that Zach’s eyes snap open to find Chris’ have yet to shut, those slits of blue staring back at him.

The gravity in the room seems to turn off, if the feeling in his stomach is any indication, as one of Chris’ hands finds the hem of his shirt in the chaos. Zach worms his arm down between them and around to broaden against Chris’ lower back, determined to keep Pine against him for the duration of the ride. The tips of Chris’ fingers are cold as they trace the skin over his ribs, and Zach’s hips jerk as much as they can with Chris’ weight on him, sending his outer leg off the couch, his foot coming to rest on the floor. His newly widened thighs allow Chris to sink that much further against him, lining them up in a dangerous way. When Zach feels his hard dick sandwich between them he’s bucking up against Chris’ stomach before an active choice to do so has been made.

Chris is grinding back down with a moan in one breath and pulling away in the next second, his face buried in Zach’s neck before Zach can even fully notice that he’s gone.

“Maybe we should curb the enthusiasm a bit,” he seems as surprised as Zach to hear his voice, tense and crackling without enough breath. He shifts his head enough in time for Zach to feel his eyelashes press closed, the forcible swallow against his collarbone. “Just — discuss first. Or something.”

And Zach pretends that Chris can’t hear his heart exploding from where his ear lies flat against his shirt collar. The caveman in Zach is smashing a club against a cave wall over the handbrake being yanked so suddenly and certain parts of his anatomy react to the word _conversation_ like the 19th century upper class would a four letter word. But this is Christopher Pine with a boner pressing stubbornly against his thigh and if he wants to just talk then Zach will never shut up again.

“Yeah,” his hands slide from the back of Chris’ head, down to his jaw, forcing him to lift just enough for eye contact. “No, you’re right,” even as Chris sort of groans as he pulls his way back to his own couch cushion with a final lip press to Zach’s throat.

There’s a half second of awkward pause before Zach rubs his hands over his face, trying to figure out a potential limb configuration one could employ where his raging hard on would no longer actually be noticeable from space in these pants.

“If I expect you to take me seriously, I should probably change into non-pajamas.”

“Oh Zach, I could never take you seriously,” he smiles at Zach and he almost, almost is able to look at those kiss pink lips without his dick twitching like an a real adult. “I’ll make coffee?”

Zach’s still half in a daze but thinks he manages to make it to the bedroom without making a total fool of himself, narrowly avoiding the trope of sinking back against the door as soon as it clicks shut. It isn’t until he makes full eye contact with himself in the mirror above his dresser and jokingly tells himself it’d be fine if he was half hanging out his window, sighing into the afternoon sun and smog like the batch of bananas he currently feels like. This waypoint they’ve stumbled upon is plotted beyond deep breath territory, it’d take more than his usual self to be deemed overdramatic.

With that mental picture, something belatedly shifts into understanding. It hits him suddenly, the freight train that ran over him in the living room. They’re doing this. This is a thing that is actually happening. Chris, bisexual, best friend, poster boy, love of his life Christopher actually wants to do this with him and here he is trying to talk himself off some panic cliff in his room when he could be blatantly staring at Pine’s in-person ass for the first time in his life.

His shirt is off before he even picks out it’s replacement when the door opens without a knock just as his thumbs hook under the loose waistband. Chris doesn’t even try to hide the disappointment in his timing as he lets himself in, walking right past him, to perch on the edge of Zach’s own bed.

“Pine style.”

And Zach doesn’t think he could possibly be up for _that_ right now.

“Quinto style, final offer,” Chris raises an eyebrow. “It’s Pine style but we agree to get to the damn point and do it in 6.”

Chris looks incredibly proud at that. “Amenable. 1. Are you seeing anyone? At all?”

Zach snorts, considering his tossed shirt before abandoning it, and pulling up a slice of mattress next to Chris’. “Me and a certain bottle of lotion have quite the thing going at the moment. 2. Are you?”

“Last week I cheated on my right hand with my left hand so we’ve all decided to take some time apart to really figure out what we want as individuals.”

“I’ve watched you try to pour milk with your left hand. Every single appliance in my kitchen knows that you are not ambidextrous.”

Chris only smirks back. “Doing something and doing something efficiently are two very different things, Zachary. 3. Does this look like something monogamous, when you imagine it?" A half second pause. “ _Have_ you imagined it?”

Zach obviously fakes a laugh. “I’m ignoring that second question because A. You’re cheating and B. Are you kidding me?” Chris’ smile pulls higher to one side, even as he fights it, finding the patch of hair on the center of Zach’s chest particularly interesting. “So as far as what this looked like over the numerous times I’ve obviously imagined it? I don’t think I could share you. 4. What about you?”

“You’re just stealing my questions.”

“Take a compliment.”

“You’re going twice in a row for this,” Zach holds up his hands in agreement. “I’ve been yours for awhile, Zach.”

That answer, Zach’s pretty confident, stuns whatever brain currents one would need for the formation of another question. He doesn’t know if he even needs more from Chris until he realizes there’s really only one thing left to care about.

“You know that I’m in love with you, right? As in present tense,” and with that Chris is meeting his eyes again. “The question you asked was, _Why did I kiss you?_ , and so the answer is that I _was_ in love with you. That’s entirely accurate if not entirely honest in broader framework.”

Chris only blinks back. “If you think you’re going to get me to waste my last question getting you to explain further then I’d tell you to ask yourself which of us is the more patient man,” there’s a bravado of calmness to his voice, one Zach thinks that could snap pretty easily if he weren’t willing to budge himself.

“Back then everything about us was like this sharp knife in the viscera. Every time I looked at you, every time I made you laugh, it felt like I was having a Caesar moment. I know it’s a cheap metaphor, it makes it sound unbearable and obviously,” he says, gesturing between them, “I beared. But I don’t know any other way to describe how unignorable it felt. Not that how I feel now is _ignorable,_ it’s just dulled with factuality. Like an old back injury, you eventually forget that you weren’t born with it.”

“I can see why Hallmark fired you.”

“Oh fuck you, you understand. I live in New York, my name’s Zach, I bluff my way through every glass of wine I order and I’m in love with a 38 year old who flies in overalls. It just _is_.”

Chris is staring at him, opens his mouth once before closing it again.

“Zach?”

Zach raises an eyebrow, trying to keep his face neutral.

“Say 5 you asshole, show some respect for the process.” Zach smiles back even as Chris assiduously ignores everything he’s just said. “6. So do you want to pretend I didn’t say the take it slow thing?” He puffs out a breath of air in a snap of a laugh, “Cause what the fuck was that guy on about, am I right?”

Nothing, being by definition the lack of anything, would normally by association be lack of an answer, especially from someone like Zach whose main skill set is the ability to always find something to say. But the way his eyes stalk Chris’ lips as they’re pulled to a smirk, his fingers digging into the duvet on either side of him as his jaw clenches way too tightly actually speaks novels. Chris lets the moment ride for a wave before his tongue peeks out to skim over his teeth, and Zach suddenly understands exactly why JFK never really stood a chance against Marilyn.

There is no slow winding preface this time around, no hovering lips or gently held presses. Only crashing mouths and tongues tangling together riotously as Zach desperately clings to the sides of Chris’ face in an attempt to find grounding in the midst of this storm. Chris’ patterns have escalated, no longer a mere summer breeze on the lolling countryside but a gale force wind fervently encountering landfall. He knows he’s facing an entirely original segment of Chris’s psyche when his fussing struts the line of a growl simply because Zach inches away just far enough to speak.

“Want to _see you,_ Chris,” as his fingers slide down Chris’ stomach, searching for the hem of his top.

Chris ignores him for a moment, leaning back in, remaking himself at home in Zach’s mouth. The silk underside of his tongue is deliriously smooth against his own, sparking a recalcitrant shiver somewhere at the middle of Zach. Chris must feel it, hands squeezing his arms against the sudden shudder as he chuckles into him. He sucks Zach’s bottom lip between his teeth, letting it scrape free amidst a hitched breath, tongue flicking over the abused flesh before removing himself from the bed altogether in one agile movement.

He stands out in front of Zach, facing him squarely for a beat before removing his sweater off in one swift tug, so quickly he barely breaks eye contact. Pine looks _satisfied_ as he discerns whatever expression Zach’s face is currently boasting, having lost control of almost all non-critical functions around the time nipples joined the viewing party agenda. Chris takes a smug step forward, back between Zach’s knees, reaching out to cup his stubbled cheek and tilting Zach’s head just right to trace the shell of his ear with his tongue. He feels Chris’ mouth widen at the whimper Zach can only assume came from himself, Pine’s fingertips grazing down the hair on his arms before encasing his hands, pulling them towards him, pressing them against his bare lower abdomen. Zach’s functioning enough to get the hint and works on Chris’ jeans, trying to ignore the way he shakes just a bit.

“You’re nervous,” Chris says, waiting until the zipper hits bottom to take Zach’s hands back into his own, pulling one up to his mouth to kiss his way along the palm lines.

“Like the man with the launch code.”

“Would it help,” Chris asks slowly as he licks up Zach’s finger before gentling biting the tip, letting it fall back to Zach’s side, “If I told you that I’d forgive you,” thumbs crooking under his jeans and boxers, shoving them over the arc of his hip to be taken by gravity, “if you cum in your pants?”

And would Zach would laugh, he really would, but he is in no position to be tempting fate with truly plausible proposals.

His witty retort mechanism has been set to minimum power intake, his normal supply chain of bitchy remarks running on a series of delays due to things like Chris being naked and hard and climbing back into his bed to kneel between his legs. He fares no better as Chris swats his wrists away when he dares to reach for his own sweatpants.

“Did I ask you for help?” He’s scolded as Chris leans back down, reclaiming him in another kiss.

Zach is reliving his prom night, having no idea what to do with his hands, feeling confronted with a lifetime of skin to travel with so little time for adjustment and no clue how long this is going to last. He reaches around Chris, prioritizing quantity of contact, fingertips pressing into the trench of his spine while the other clings to the axis of his neck. Zach’s still wrestling with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth, as his fingers attempt to chart every taut line of muscle that they can reach. Then Chris is inching away, kissing down the side of his face, nudging it away from him to get a better shot at his throat.

“Jesus, your mouth is so fucking hot,” it’s a statement made without Zach’s input, entirely worth it when Chris practically purrs in response.

Chris takes his time as he sets his course down Zach’s body. His tongue traces the line where stubble meets the flesh of his neck, to the contour of his shoulder, sucking his way over the curve of muscle to graze his teeth against his clavicle the same moment his fingers find Zach’s left nipple and introduce themselves.

There’s absolutely no pride left in the way he grinds up against Chris’ hip with a hiss as his mouth slowly finds the other one, tongue flicking the bud hard before sucking it gently all to the tune of what sounds like Zach’s untimely death.

Chris finally takes pity on him, of sorts, burying his face in Zach’s soft patch of chest hair as his fingers toy with the trail beneath his navel, promising, “Information for later,” in spite of his current mercy.

A readjust of Chris’ position has to occur before the final descent and for one illustrious moment he’s ass on heels, kneeling between Zach’s calves in all his stretched out godlike glory.

Reaching out on impulse, Zach's fingers brush over the point of Chris’ hipbone to the side his dick curves, pulling his attention back to Zach’s face long enough that their eyes are locked on when he says, “You are insufferably beautiful.”

And Pine only licks his smiling lips, curling down around himself to mouth the waistband of Zach’s horrible sweatpants. He slowly pulls them over Zach, releasing him on a whisper, “And you,” trailing the ever exposing skin of his thigh with his lips, “make for a pulchritudinous bedfellow.”

Zach will swear to the day that he dies that the resulting moan is solely a response to Chris’ breath on his sensitive flesh, his hands running up the length of his legs and not from the less convenient ways Chris is deciding to boast of the talent of his tongue.

Chris sucks on the spot where his torso meets pelvis, speaking softly into his skin, “I have a confession,” making Zach groan as his fingers skirt up his thighs, resting as close to his cock as one could manage without offering any abatement. Anticipation begins burning at new levels. “I lied to you.”

“Let me guess,” he tries to joke, angling his hips towards Chris even he implores himself not to. “You really are heterosexual and this has been been a wild roller coaster of misunderstandings?” Chris laughs, his cheek barely brushing against Zach causing him to shamefully arch up into the touch.

“Not quite,” Chris all but teases back, his lips _finally_ pressing against the base of him, “I close my eyes,” licking his way to the head in short, pressing stripes, “So I can pretend that they’re you.” And Zach tries desperately hard to focus on blue as Chris’ mouth stretches around him, taking him in for the first time.

He doesn’t really know how his hands get there, but they become tangled in Chris’ hair almost as soon as his dick is swallowed, clutching on desperately as he tries so hard not to fuck into Chris’ mouth. That pressure has to go somewhere and there’s an internal grapple as he decides just how many neighbors he wants to share this experience with, grunting in time with Chris’ bobbing. He’s only just begun to loosening his fingers when Chris reaches up to hold them there, pressing himself further onto Zach’s cock with his own hand.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” he hisses at Chris’ responding moan. “Can’t tell you how many times I pictured you here, with me.”

Chris grips his base a little harder, matching his lips dip for pump, and when Zach feels his tongue start to lap at his head his hips buck on this own so badly Chris almost takes all of him. But what gets him the worst is that Chris doesn’t even retreat, just holds himself there for a moment as his tongue slides up and down him while surrounded by the wet heat of his mouth. Zach can’t watch anymore, can barely even breathe.

He tries to focus on the feeling of Chris’ arm, almost uncomfortably digging against his leg as he holds himself in place, the pain from the open wound he’s currently grinding into the inside of his own cheek, and the ache in his toes from where they’re bending all the wrong ways just to push himself deeper into Chris’ mouth. But it’s hard to feel any of it through the way Chris’ cheeks give into the suction, the way Chris’ hips fuck earnestly into that hand that’s disappeared beneath his body, his voice so recognizable even as a moan around Zach’s cock. He might have had a chance, a slim one, if those eyes weren’t laser focused on his, heated and craving and downright _pleased_.

“Come here, come here,” he practically begs as Chris pulls off with a noise that almost undoes Zach completely. His normally rosy lips have bloomed to a darker shade, lush from the abuse. He’s also smiling like a maniac.

“You can’t possibly be complaining about this,” his mouth still close enough to brush against his shaft with every small movement, air from his breath ghosting over him.

Zach’s hand is already back in his hair, pushing for contact on its own accord and Chris, the instigator, begins to mouth below the head with lip covered teeth.

“Oh god, you need to stop,” and Chris at least has the heart to look vaguely concerned. “No puppy dogs. Get up here, _now_. Don’t want to cum without you.”

The smile is back, more shiny and red than Zach is used to. “What do you think the other hand was busy doing?” Despite willingly climbing up Zach’s body.

He pushes their mouths together and tasting himself on Chris’ tongue is almost enough to make him shoot alone. Zach holds him close, and tips them to the side, resolved to have some tier of jurisdiction in this before the finale. Chris allows himself to be covered, his spine curving away from the mattress to find friction, knees bracketing Zach’s hips.

Zach tries to takes a pause to appreciate the scene taking place underneath him. Chris’ hair is tumultuous, his mouth is swollen and fucked, dick hard and pink between them, and his eyes are hurricanes watching Zach’s every moment. He runs his hands over Chris’ chest, letting his nail catch on his nipple twice before Chris gives in and asks, “Touch me, fuck Zach, please,” in Zach’s sole victory of the event.

Zach leans down over him, taking them both in hand, as Chris legs finally wrap around him, pulling him in thrust for thrust. Their foreheads press together between artless kisses and Zach tries hard to hold sight of that blue even as the pleasure is building to the point of detonation inside of him. He wonders if Chris would let him fuck him, if that’s an option even on the table when Chris once again proves his skills as a mind reader.

“Want you to fuck me just like this, want you inside of me,” he pants into Zach’s skin.

But that’s going to have to wait until next time because Zach’s hips are already losing their rhythm as he mouths a bruise onto Chris’ shoulder. He’s moaning out a barely coherent string of, “You’re mine, mine,” as he holds them both tighter, jerking faster, as his hips snap that much harder against Chris.

He cums loudly, biting into Chris’ flesh, who jerks into his fist with an obscene cry that can probably be heard in the lobby.

There’s a pounding in his head as the blood returns to the correct areas, still managing to roll to Chris’ right to avoid asphyxiating him despite the technicolor stars slowly fading out of his vision. Chris’ labored breath has already synced up with his as he curls into Zach, fingers stroking down his arm, finding the wrist of his cum covered hand, and bringing it up to his mouth to collect some aftereffects on his tongue. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes as bright as they are heavy, as he leans in and shows Zach what _them_ tastes like. Even Zach’s spent dick is so appreciative it gives a spasm in a show of weak gratitude and his hands find their way to the back of Chris’ head, holding him there as he kisses him as softly as his dwindling passion will allow.

When Chris pulls away his breath still has yet to fully level out and it puffs against Zach’s skin as he touches their foreheads together, smiling so wide he truly looks like a lunatic, if lunatics threw beauty pageants.

“Is there any of my hair you _didn’t_ just get cum in?”

Zach bursts out laughing, even as Chris flinches away from him, “Is that what truly matters to you after such a sacred event?”

“You’re reaching.”

“And you keep lying,” Chris pulls back an inch or two to assess his face. “ _‘Not my bee’s knees’_ , we could have the recorder read back your statement should you require it.”

Chris snorts, pecking him on the lips a final time. “Suppose it depends on the bee,” as he swings his legs off the edge of the bed.

“And this bumble? Does he know just the right way to pollinate your flower?”

Chris twists around to judge him head on before getting up to collect his clothes. “Thank god your dirty talk isn’t this distressing. And you’re still reaching.”

Zach’s tongue goes a little paralyzed at the sight of Chris walking away in his current state of dress, barely getting out a, “Tell me that you love me, asshole!” as Chris’ backside enters the hall.

“I love you, asshole!” Chris calls back as the bathroom door clicks shut.

 

* * *

 

At present, Mambo Italiano is on its third blast through, his timing not exactly in its peak form at the moment, when Chris finally exits the bathroom, hair still wet, in only his skivvies.

“I thought you’d of joined me or be snoring by now,” making the calculated choice to overlook the scene in front of him.

“Who has the time for such luxuries? Need to practice for that first dance.”

Zach can tell by the way his whole face lights up that he remembers exactly what Zach is rambling about. He leans against the wall where the hall enters the living room, crossing his arms, “We're getting married now?” Face failing, miserably, to look dismayed.

“Don't be ridiculous, we haven't even had the fight about how many brown items of clothing you get to own. But you _will_ have to make an honest farmer of me someday.”

“Now we're farmers?” Making his final approach. “I thought we were horses?”

“One horse. And yes.”

“Oh, well then. Now it makes sense,” tugging on one of Zach’s earlobes in a transparent desire for contact.

“Are you going to leave this simple pony loving farm hand to dance by himself?”

“This is getting into the weird porn tab category.”

Chris leaves the circle of Zach’s arms, walking over to his phone and types something in, sending Dean into silence. Sinatra’s _Come Rain or Shine_ takes over the airway as he’s making his way back over to Zach, hooking his fingers under the hem of his shirt.

“Way too much clothing.”

Zach groans, allowing himself to be stripped, poking Chris’ obnoxiously flat stomach on his way out, “Yeah, well not all of us have washboards to flaunt.”

“ _Yeah, well_ some of us are Wonder Woman's boyfriend and have appearances to keep,” Chris skips a beat to allow for Zach’s eye roll. “I just assume that's what we're calling you now,” as he pulls him closer to dance. Zach blushes furiously, tries to bury it in Chris’ neck but the heat alone probably gives him away. “He starts the conversation with a marriage proposal but blushes at ‘boyfriend’.”

“I just wanted some company for the horse sale, it's an intimidating place for a sweet young thing like me to wander into alone.”

Chris is scoffing, but the stutter of his chest as it tries to reign in a laugh is a delightful thing. “So we're _not_ the horse?”

“Why are you so relentless on this heresy? I’m starting to have misgivings about you.”

Chris mostly ignores him, his hand on Zach’s waist insistent that they elaborate more than the sway, even if they only barely graduate to a step touch. “Of course you lead from followers position,” he chuckles, submitting even as Zach narrowly avoids the couch. “Well at least you picked an animal that’ll live for _most_ of the rest of our lives. We could have been a goldfish.”

“Little do you know,” his fingers toying with the damp hair at Chris’ nape, “ours is indestructible. Make sure you buy some stocks in carrots because he's going to live forever whether you want him to or not.”

“Sounds like a bona fide abomination.”

“You've always known what you were getting into.”

“Yeah,” Chris says, lips forming around the skin of Zach shoulder. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be just one more folks, but I assure you the drama is past tense.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me thus far <3


	7. Chapter 7

The hour at which he had climbed out of bed had been downright repugnant. If he managed to live through the entirety of the day then he was celebrating with the formation of a cult whose sole doctrine affirms that 6AM should not be acknowledged off of a film set. His dedication to his cause had already been proven noteworthy, another entire hour of sleep had been plausible, but his fear of tempting fate and that goddamn Pine beating him into the land of the living had motivated him vertical before the sun could even claim to be up. Regardless of how the rest of his orchestrated events unfolded, the title of dedicated had been well earned.

He takes a shower, huffs some coffee grounds after vaguely falling asleep while peeing, and finally begins to prepare breakfast while setting the stage in his normal method of barely organized chaos. Either Chris’ sense of smell is a medical miracle or Zach’s luck is finally resetting after a respite in the Caribbean because the sound of the bedroom door opening harmonizes perfectly with the cracking of the eggs. The internal pep talk begins as the footsteps approach, Zach holding his ground against the urge to turn around, keeping his face to the stove, until Chris speaks.

“Dear God, it awakens before me,” sarcasm dripping from Chris’ voice as he rounds the corner. “And it cooks —”

Chris cuts himself off as Zach finally allows himself to gaze over his shoulder. Witnessing Chris inventory the backwards newsboy hat, donned with lime green swim goggles, is already a delight unto itself — flummoxed not being an overblown choice of word to describe his expression. Zach’s tweed vest and paisley handkerchief currently masquerading as an ascot are absorbed subsequently, cataloged as accessory evidence in the case of Zach’s failing sanity, as Chris stands frozen at the edge of the living room, wondering if this should be treated as a commentable event.

Zach just stares back, hoping Chris catches on before the eggs burn but willing to make the sacrifice, merely tipping his head to the left in clue. Chris’ eyes follow the movement, sliding away until they anchor on Part Two where it lay in wait for his arrival on the counter across the kitchen. The second half of this is a giant sun hat, albeit a straw one, complete with white organza scarf wrapped around it, accompanied by white winter gloves. Chris reanimates in a trice, meeting Zach’s eyes, biting his lip around a conquering smile. The whole thing solidifies its status of worth it when his eyes turn to squints, giving way to his grin displaced cheeks, before completely losing it to a fit laughter.

“This is going to have to be an adequate alternative to a stint in a flying car,” Zach states, trying to keep his own composure. “Google says we’re not there yet as a society,” tossing the effects to Chris who looks downright atingle, immediately putting on the hat before beginning his row with the gloves.

“Oh it is, it is. Though, _‘adequate,’_ most certainly does not give you your due. _‘Astounding,’_ may be a more proper choice,” he’s still beaming when Zach turns around to take care of the eggs. “I have so many questions.”

“I can not promise you many answers as rationale had little to do this, but you may proceed.”

“I’ve been chosen to represent Truly? Who was on the casting board for this?” Finally accepting that in no universe are the finger compartments of women’s gloves going to accommodate him.

“Are you suggesting you’re by nature more fit to play the leading man?”

Zach doesn’t have to be looking to know Chris is rolling his eyes, “How long should I stroke your ego before we can productively continue this conversation?” He gets up to pour himself a coffee. “Actually, it’d probably just be easier if you set me a timer, so I can really dedicate myself to the performance,” he continues before Zach can get a word in, “You know, Hollywood just doesn’t _understand_ your type of —”

 _“Time’s up,”_ Chris only snorts as he reseats. “One boon of not being the teen rag poster boy in this doublet is that when one of us is to be Dick Van Dyke and the other a beautiful lass,” he pauses, peeking back, “guess who's always going to be out of luck?”

A sigh is Chris’ only sign of weak agreement. “I’m going to make the bold assumption that you didn’t just have some of this lying around?”

“As you may remember, I partook in an excursion that led me outside of this apartment last night,” Chris just sits in silence for the more telling portion of his answer. “On my way back from the store I stopped in on a very benevolent neighbor who was able to help me out with your very handsome attire and my goggles. I unfortunately already owned the cap. I was in a bad place at the time of purchase, I don’t really want to talk about it,” he pauses to grab some plates. “I briefly considered dressing up the dogs but the only discerning thing about the children in that movie was how dirty they were.”

The slap of a hand coming down on the island cuts sharply through the sound of bacon frying.

“Excuse me,” and Chris does a marvelous job of sounding genuinely annoyed. “Did you just try to smuggle in the fact that after _adamantly_ refusing to let me come with you, you decided to be away even longer, knowing I was voraciously waiting due to your outright deception?”

“You seemed perfectly thrilled at the time that I didn’t have any condoms,” plating the finally finished, and only marginally overcooked, breakfast.

“Epically, but let us not lose focus. That text I received on your way back, what did it say? Something along the lines of, _I want you naked in my bed, hard and yearning. Be ready for me by the time I get back._ Might we have something to say about that now?”

“Well, if we’re speaking specifically of the text, then I can clear myself of falsehood, I _did_ want you naked in my bed, Christopher. Frankly, that’s mostly just a universal constant. If you are faced with multiple scenarios, and doubt where my preference would lie, I’d say it’s a pretty solid hypothesis that if one of those options is for you to be naked in my bed then that’s where my bolder desire would nearly always reside,” he turns around, food filled plates in hand. “However, if you’re asking, yes, making sure your prying eyes weren’t out here to ruin the insipid surprise was a glorious bonus.”

The food is barely on the granite and Chris’ mouth is already mostly full of bacon.

“You lied and lied,” he stage whispers, “and then you just made sweet, sweet love to me in that bed full of dishonesty.”

“I think we earned at least 3 sweets,” plucking the half a strip Chris is dramatically waving around out of his hands.

“Sweet, sweet, _sweet_ deceitful love.”

“It was this or the Spock ears, Chris. I had no real options.”

The term, _bolt upright,_ suddenly has a new prime example for Zach’s mental archive. “There are Spock ears? In _this_ apartment?”

He cringes. “Just some stupid Halloween pack ones that, I believe, Joe gave me?” It’s the best defense that he has for owning them, one for keeping them all these years, however, is severely lacking.

Chris is having none, or at least very little, of it. His head is back to shaking, this time in the perfect replica of a disgruntled father looming over a D-average report card.

“Did you wear them for Derek?” Making Zach nearly choke on a home fry. “Oh my god, you did!”

“I did _not,_ ” Zach forces a second of held eye contact as his hand comes to rest on Pine's shoulder. “Please bear with me as I repeat myself, but this certainly qualifies as deserving, I did not wear Spock ears during Derek’s one night.”

“Did you love him more than you love me?” Asked around a forkful of eggs.

“Thoroughly,” he nods back. “That’s why we nicknamed him One-Night-Derek after I decided to never speak to him again. It was all that love I was harboring. ”

“You’re an emotional exhaustion,” Zach doesn’t comment on the fact that for someone in such turmoil, Chris’ appetite seems perfectly intact. “We are watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang as your penance.”

“Still pleading innocent over here but, considering I already ordered it, I agree to your deal.”

Chris _hmffs_ as his first response. “ _And_ you are going to come up with a romantic nickname for me so I feel as secure as I’m sure Derek once did.”

“Succhiacazzi,” Zach answers, far too eagerly. “I think it’s a fair summation of our fairy tale.”

Chris smiles back with such endearment that Zach automatically begins mapping his backtracking route.

“One is more likely to get their cazzo succhiato with doting words than with derisive ones,” Zach only stares back for a moment, trying to choose his next move between the one screaming brain wave of, _How the goddamn fuck,_ and another desperate to figure out how to slap the upper hand so it tips back in this favor. “For once in your life, Zachary, surrender with grace and call me Stud Muffin.”

Zach forces himself to release the half formed comment about Pine’s chance of taking a Hot 100 list should anyone ever see the sight that stands before him. For one, Zach literally doesn’t want to know how many he’s actually been on so this is already looking like a suicide mission. And for two, sitting there, still voluntarily donning the hat Zach wasn’t sure he’d even get on him to begin with, Zach thinks if he were any more attracted to Chris than it could become a true health hazard.

He isn’t, however, a big enough man to admit it straight out.

”Would it be totally inappropriate for me to bring up a serious matter while we’re dressed like this?” He asks, vaguely gesturing to the whole of himself.

Chris simply shrugs, “That time you told me you didn’t think you’d ever be capable of allowing your true self to be known you were wearing my banana swim trunks and plastic sunglasses with rainbow frames. Attire has never really dictated the tone of accompanying dialogue for us,” sipping his coffee. “Plus, I’m already grieving the fact that the gloves don’t fit, you’re not taking this hat from me.”

“I have no idea where those glasses went.”

“Is that the serious matter you wanted to discuss? Because you’re right, the topic of non-prescription eyewear is often a somber one.”

Shaking his head, Zach makes the conscious decision to continue their newly formed routine of actually starting a conversation with the reason for having it. “I think you should talk to Jen about us, whether she thinks being loud and proud about this could be a good idea, before me and you make any decisions on our own.” Chris looks nothing but confused in response. “I mean I can’t imagine that it’d swing back negatively on you, but she may just want you to stay under the radar in general. It’d be a change of topic but that doesn’t mean it won’t just give them a reason to bring up point A all over again, this may be one of the few scenarios where no press really can be good press. ”

Chris only blank stares back at him. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

Zach considers him momentarily before biting at the first lead. “I don’t understand the hypothetical punchline? Is this payback for nearly Chernobyling over ‘boyfriend’ last night? I didn’t think I had to clarify that was more 16 year old girl at a winter formal being asked to dance by the captain of the football team and less of a refutation.”

“But it was _partially_ a refutation?” Chris asks, eyes bright, suddenly enjoying himself again.

"Heterosexuals and their labels, man, they got you good,” Chris bides his time. “I’m sitting here asking you to talk to your publicist about us going public and you expect me to believe that you have a real concern about this?”

Chris’ face immediately transforms into what Zach’s always referred to as his cherub from hell routine, the very line where his sweet and evil personality traits intersect, “Go public about _what,_ Zachary?” All while, literally, batting his eyelashes.

“I did something truly horrible in a previous life. Killing a pope level horrible,” he shoves some more eggs into his mouth. “Public about our _relationship,_ Christopher. Do you not want to stand atop the world and tell its residence of your undying affection for me?”

Only Chris looks somehow less happy with his victory, his eyes falling down to his plate and he eats in silence for a few seconds. “As grand as that would be, I don’t think we should.”

Zach tries to reinstitute in himself the simple joys of breathing. There are a thousand different reasons why Chris could want to keep a lid on this, 900+ of them valid and well meant, panic not being on any mandatory invite list for this party.

“Like I said, if lying low is the all out goal then—”

“That isn’t what I mean,” he’s firmly cut off.

“You can’t break up with me wearing that hat, Pine, even I don’t deserve that.”

Chris’ face softens. “No, come on,” he licks his lips. “I don’t care what people would think. If I had to guess? It would probably be a positive for me, at worst a neutral. The fact that I fancy male companionship has been pretty solidified in the public opinion already. And being half of a steady, committed, partnership—”

“We don’t use that term in this house unless we’re sexually role-playing cowboys.”

“ —would only take the sting off my newly gained raging slut personality bullet point—”

“You are not—”

“ _Zachary,_ focus. In conclusion, it’s probably a wash for me. And personally, I would consider it an absolute delectation for the rest of the planet to know how much harder than necessary you’ve made my life,” a smile distinctly missing from the jab.

He manages so stave off a, _You haven’t seen jackshit yet,_ for a more helpful, “But you think Jen will disagree?”

Chris looks at him like he’s trying to break some very poor news to a soul who most certainly should already be aware of it. “I think it’d be really bad for _you,_ Zach.”

“Bad? I don’t think it could be surprising enough to achieve bad tier. The general public elected me a deacon in the Church of Chris Pine’s ass eons ago, this will not be a shocking development,” Chris only looks unimpressed. “Besides, I don’t remember a career spit-shine for me being listed under my requirements for doing this.”

“Well it’s bolded and underlined on mine,” staring down at his breakfast like it’s an entire hall of art to be studied.

“Level with me, Christopher. Do you truly think that even 12 of my fans didn’t start rooting for this the second that picture was released?”

“I’m not saying never, obviously. I’ve just been waiting on this for a long time—”

“And I haven’t?”

Chris deflates a little at that, his smile making an effort to return and failing most miserably. “I know, which just better proves my point. I’m not going to start this off by taking a hammer to your public profile.”

“You act like I'm upheld as some saint! Do you think they'll fall into dismay, concerned you may sully me with your advanced knowledge of alternative orifice copulation? They know I'm aware of blowjobs, Chris. ”

“You have no idea what people will say. You have no idea what spin this would get. You’ve been lining up project after project, booking nonstop work, and I can not be the reason that you hit a speed bump. Eventually my reputation will calm down and then we can ring every bell and blow every whistle that you can find. At some point down the road I’m sure something else I say or do will bring you lots of gloriously horrible press and you can bask in it then all that you want. But this is fresh, still in the cellophane new, and I’m not going to risk it,” he looks up as he swallows, focus flickering back and forth from Zach’s throat even as he clearly tries to keep eye contact. “It isn’t worth it.”

The swap of _‘It’_ and _‘I’m’_ is a perfectly simple one to make and the scene starts to slowly unblur.

“You think that the shit will hit the proverbial fan and I’ll take off.”

Chris shakes his head quickly, hand held up before Zach can reach a new level of indignant. “You’re too stubborn for that,” and this time his smile can at least see the line of genuine from where it sits. “I really just don’t think it’s worth it,” he repeats himself. “If there was some detrimental fluctuation in your career, a shift you couldn’t just spring back from, and it was because I asked this of you?” There’s a chuckle filled with anxiety as Chris’ hand drags across his own face. “Think about it, Zach.”

And he would, really, if there were a single reason to.

“There’s nothing to think about - I decided a long time ago that I rather be honest with my fans than live in the realm of, _‘What If?’_ s. And this is you, Chris, you’re not some dirty little secret.” Chris says nothing, using his coffee as a weak distraction. “Say I’m some — office manager somewhere. What would you want then?”

Chris side eyes him, tongue running over his back teeth, as he clearly searches for a fire alarm to pull before submitting back to reality.

“I’d want to everyone to know.”

Zach urgently prioritizes keeping his expression balanced, knowing that coming off as cogent is his best bet even if it’s never been his finest talent.

“Me and you are populating the same preference here, Pine, the gods have spoken,” he reaches out, covering Chris’ hand with one of his own, squeezing it tightly. “I’m not going to regret you.”

Chris’ eyes snap up at that, meeting his, and Zach realizes he finally found the X that marks the spot of the entire hesitation. He can’t really believe Chris is living under such a ridiculous delusion, would write him an entire dissertation on why regretting him is theoretically impossible at this point - regardless of what results it brought him. Through the years of stifle-strength longing as they constructed the intricacies of this friendship, and a decade of muzzling random flares of hope as he sat through the parade of relationships, Zach had frequented his fair share of unfavorable emotions. Regretting that he loved him had never been a name on the roster.

“We’re going to have to agree to disagree,” Chris responds, not even sparing a small enough beat that Zach could squeeze in a follow up argument. “I really do have to leave tonight,” he raises both palms as Zach opens his mouth, “full honesty this time. So instead of bickering about this, let’s finish this delicious, yet pancake lacking, meal so we can watch Mr. Potts show Ms. Scrumptious exactly what indefatigability means in his house.”

It isn't like Zach to fold so quickly and yet he already knows the victory isn't in this battle. He plays the indecision out on his face, already calmly scheming, when he finally raises his coffee, “To you successfully inserting the thought of these already preposterous characters having tantric sex into my psyche.”

Chris beams, meeting Zach’s toast, “To not suffering alone!”

* * *

Within about 20 minutes of pressing play it becomes firmly apparent that the film makes possibly even less sense than he remembers it making, which was miraculously already none. Though when Chris begins to settle in, roughly around the time Truly professes her undying love for children she barely knows, Zach finds it easier to hold back his commentary. The hat, of course, remains in place even when it readily proves its lack of practicality in the act of cuddling. As in all things, Chris finds a way to accomplish what he wants and Zach is so content to have him pressed against his side that he pretends the brim isn’t in dangerous territory of taking out one of his eyes.

Chris sings along to the songs, he silently mouths the dialogue into Zach’s neck, and his muscles pull against Zach’s skin as he smiles when Zach barks out a laugh even as he debates the difference of _at_ and _with._

When the car starts casually flying, to the surprise of no one in the film, and the credits start rolling in clear lack of explanation, Chris’ resounding sigh is far more explicit than anything they just experienced.

“You forged through that bravely,” he sits up and turns to Zach, “and with surprising restraint.”

“Maybe I was enjoying myself,” Chris raises an eyebrow. “Maybe this entire time I’ve been mocking this masterpiece of cinema for the sole purpose of tricking _you_ into watching it.”

Chris’ eyes narrow. “State your case.”

Zach pretends to look shocked. “Okay, I admit it, I have a kink for watching grown men watch disturbing children's movies,” Chris simply waits. “Fine, I just wanted to share something that you loved with you.”

“That’s remarkably sweet,” Chris begins to lean in, tilting his head to one side as Zach subconsciously licks his lips in preparation for being kissed. His eyes are half lidded when Chris speaks again, his path to Zach halted. “Now what could be so bad that you’d lower yourself to such a bold faced lie?”

Zach bites the bullet, trying to ignore the way Chris’ eye’s wander down to his mouth. “Take a picture with me?”

“That’s it?” Chris looks at him like he’s suddenly speaking fluent Swahili, jerking back to assess him with striking confusion.

“Well, you’re not exactly known for being Mr. Selfie. I didn’t know how big of a request this would be considered,” Zach clears his throat, constructing his next wording wisely. “Is it so outrageous that I’d want some proof that this actually occurred?”

Chris stares at him for a second longer before shrugging, turning around to lean back against Zach’s chest instead of giving him a verbal answer. Zach grabs his phone from the table, readies the camera, smiling as Chris, _‘wait, wait,’_ s him as he adjusts his hat to be as ridiculous as possible before tucking his shoulder under Zach’s chin.

“Ready, Princess Pine?” Zach asks, even as Chris’ eyes are already locked onto the lens.

He doesn’t answer that either, just smiles a little brighter, leans a little bit more into him, and Zach hesitates, just staring at the image of them together, focusing on that feeling of gaiety blazing in his gut at the sight. Chris’ expression is only beginning to dim as his eyes wander from the lens to his peripherals when Zach makes his move. He surges forward the couple of inches, lips making contact with Chris’ cheek in a cartoon level smack as he desperately fails to keep a straight face.

It’s a great result. They’re slightly blurred due to the sudden motion, and the lighting is completely off, but the way Chris obviously presses back into the kiss, nose crinkling, tongue peeking out between his front teeth, as Zach’s grin barely allows him to pucker up, it’s one for the history books.

Chris swallows hard as he looks at it, asking, “Send that to me?” before he even takes his eyes off of it.

Time takes lead in the war shortly after that. Chris first insists on doing the dishes, ignoring the way Zach casually pokes and prods him with his toes from his seat atop the counter. “You could dry them, you know,” Chris offers when Zach nearly gets the shirt over his head.

 _“Busy,”_ had been the concentrated reply.

After his solo mission in the kitchen, Chris begins the art of repacking as Zach takes residency on the bed next to his suitcase. He makes the conscious choice not to help with that either, occasionally unhelping, as he casually stuffs various articles of clothing under the nearby pillow until he’s eventually caught. It may be mere coincidence but Chris quits trying to force Zach into planning a trip out to LA as he rifles under the covers looking for _misplaced_ belongings, unlikely won over by Zach’s whining about the value of now over the uncertainties of later.

Zach’s pouting power only increases when he loses round 3, the battle of driving along with him to the airport, despite dragging it out until they’re back in that infamous door frame.

“I left my toothbrush,” Chris smirks at him, not even pretending to be subtle about the subject change.

“Oh no,” Zach deadpans, “I’ll never be able to hide it in time before my slew of lovers find it.”

“ _And_ I stole yours for my place.”

Zach snorts, “How presumptuous of you.”

Chris leans in, kissing him, pressing their foreheads together for just a moment.

“Behave yourself, pony.”

“I absolutely shall not, Mr. Farmer.”

Chris mumbles his grievances on Zach’s inability to work a metaphor, “You are so damn lucky that I love you,” but is grinning when he turns to leave.

Zach has no argument to offer as he focuses his energy on the upholding the arduous choice of not simply chasing Chris into the cab, still managing a matching grin as he pulls out his phone.

* * *

Chris wakes up to approximately 347 notifications on his cell phone. There’s a worn out alarm going off in his head, one that suspiciously sounds like, _What the fuck now?,_ already assuming whatever this entails is karmic punishment for sleeping in despite solemnly swearing he’d get through his current stack of scripts before lunch. He mentally forces the better half of the blame onto Zach, common sense dictating that the later timezone dweller should be the one responsible for ending phone calls before the hour morphs back to single digits on the west coast.

He sweeps his way through the mayhem, noting the undertone of this tumult resounds much more congratulatory than the previous time his phone resembled this level of destruction. _At least,_ he thinks, _it’s not so bad that I’m receiving career condolence cards again,_ as he finally finds Zach down at the bottom. This isn’t exactly a shock to Chris, Zach not being awake to participate in whatever this is, despite it being nearly noon in New York. That is, until he notices the received time, 3 hours ago, and it clicks into place that Zach’s text isn’t missing from the havoc — it’s the start of it.

 _‘Just check your email’,_ is the unhelpful message. _‘Or join the rest of us in 2019 and get a smart phone.’_

__

His e-mail account is a whole new mess he’ll eventually have to deal with, the devastation from WWI earlier this week not having been completely cleared yet before this new swarm invaded. He does eventually find Zach’s, opening to read the meager note, _‘I talked to Jen and your sister. Call once you’ve already forgiven me, because I’m not sorry.’_ There’s a surge in his blood pressure as he spies the link, not really having to imagine what the end of this scavenger hunt entails.

__

His browser is taken to Zach’s twitter, straight to a single post, containing a solitary picture: Their picture. The sight holds him hostage for a moment the same way it did yesterday, eyes taking their time tracing the lines of their faces, absorbing the absolute and plain pleasure these mere pixels project. The bliss on Zach's face he can still hardly believe. He forces his focus away from the curve of Zach's mouth to the accompanying caption.

__

_You are the uxoricide in my children’s movie, the enten to my dre, the ass half of my horse, the only thing I’m definitely sure of… and the love of my life. You’re stuck with me now, Stud Muffin._

__

He’s convinced the phone doesn’t even ring on the other end before Zach answers.

__

“Christopher Pine’s boyfriend, how can I help you?” Sounding no less than wholly proud of himself.

__

“God,” he laughs, his cheeks already getting sore from the smile his muscles seem locked into, “you really are an asshole.”

__

And Zach, fucking Zach, just laughs back.

__

“Always.”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ladies and gents, we've made it! And now that we've pulled into the station mostly unharmed I definitely have some people to thank.
> 
> Firstly, everyone who kudo'ed and commented - the support really does help, so thanks for the cheerleading!
> 
>  **Alice** \- This is your fault so I think it goes without saying that we're no longer friends. Please never speak to me again. **Chelsey** \- The gifs! The daily reminder of how much I want these two mofo's to kiss really did keep me motivated. You're not off the hook either, keep em coming. And **Caitlyn** \- Thank you for being my google, my sounding board, and being far more kind than I deserve. I honestly don't know if I would have finished this without you.
> 
> But more than anyone I want to acknowledge the FBI agent assigned to my IP. From an uncomfortable amount of inquiries about these dudes' whereabouts to me googling every day words at 3AM because I've convinced myself I've been using them wrong for 20 years, it has been quite the ride. You survived the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang phase, the sociopathtic image searches for facial expressions because I forgot what happiness looks like, and that one day I got _very_ into the differences between horse and pony lifespans. We've been through a lot together, buddy, and I'll never forget you. You the real MVP.
> 
> Till next time folks you can find me at grumpybonesey on tumblr <3


End file.
